Chapter 8
Françoise entered the cabin and closed the door quietly. She took a moment to lean against the wall to watch Dale putting away some clothes. No longer aware of the gentle roll under her feet, she was now at ease with this new sensation in her life. A muffled sound drew her attention and she turned her eyes towards the wall. A small hole appeared, a wooden plug removed from a worn knothole. Gently sighing, the aristocrat moved into the light, attracting the interest of her mate.
Why did she feel it was necessary to prove her ‘manhood’ to the Captain? She did not really want to expose their love to him but their journey wasn’t over yet. Unfortunately, the Captain held the key for a safe cruise and she could ill afford a deadly confrontation over her being found out to be a woman. She had to allow him to be a voyeur to this little charade. For now, she was a man protecting her woman from the lewd Captain and his loyal crew.
“Woman! Come here! I need you now!” The tall woman’s blazing blue eyes pinned her partner in place.
“Errr…. Yeah…. Okay.” Dale was confused by the sudden imperious tone of her lover.
“Yes… husband!” Françoise hated doing this, she really did. Her wife was the most loving person she had ever known and certainly making love with her required nothing more than a subtle signal. She watched as emerald eyes skittered around the room.
“But… Philippe…”
The French woman smiled. Dale was a smart one. “On the table…” A lone finger pointed to the flat board, indicating where she wanted the woman to be. As Dale approached her she could see the excitement in those eyes. “Lift your dress,” she growled, letting the sternness in her voice excite Dale even more. “Ahh. That is more like it wife,” she crooned, the stamp of authority marking each and every word.
As she lay back on the smooth wood, Dale looked up into storm-tossed eyes. There was a reason for this game, she now understood that, and trusted her partner implicitly to guide them to whatever end had been planned. “As you wish, my husband,” she whispered as determined lips latched onto her own ferociously. The contact was rough and demanding, sending her libido skywards.
“Forgive me, chérie,” Françoise muttered as her lips forged a blazing path down to the gentle swell of the blonde’s breasts peeking out enticingly from the top of the bodice. It had been too long since she had feasted on the pale flesh and her soul eagerly wanted more. As much as she wanted to love her gently, her present actions fed upon themselves, doubling, tripling, quadrupling her need to possess, control and devour the woman underneath her.
“Who owns you, Dale?” It was extremely hard to keep her mind on the lie when the deep fluttering in the pit of her stomach was building rapidly.
“Only you, my love.” Françoise’s heart soared at the utter conviction she saw in those green depths, content to watch the angelic face looking up at her. “Philippe…” The French woman’s insides clenched at the sheer innocent sensuality of that word, and she so longed to hear her own name from those lips.
The roaming hands disappeared. Had she done something wrong? Raising herself onto her elbows, Dale gazed down the length of her body, her partner’s hands out of sight because of the hiked dress. She looked up to see Françoise’s eyes closed, her brow creased in… she was not sure. Concentration? Pain? Fear? “Philippe?”
Françoise was hanging on by a thread. She could not open her eyes for fear of ravaging the woman in a heartbeat. “Chérie…” Even to herself her voice held intense longing laced with a touch of danger. No, this was not the way. Dale deserved caring and loving entreaty, not to be taken like some common whore on a table. “Please…”
Dale sat up, her hand rising to caress the tense cheek. “It will be fine, my love.” Eyes dark as night held hers, showing the internal flame ablaze with desire. Her desire spiked at the intense display. Could she handle such passion?
“Non… later.” Françoise tried to back away but was held firm. One arm snaked around her waist while the other dropped to her pants. A small smile touched her lips as Dale’s eyes widened. “Do you want this?” The French woman could barely get the words out.
“It’s your fantasy, my love.” Soft lips took the tall woman, kissing, licking and nipping in an effort to stir her blood. Moments later she was on her back once more, strong hands caressing her skin underneath the dress.
Françoise closed her eyes, her mind mapping every inch of a body that she knew so well. Her hands roamed nervously, feeling the quivering skin respond to her. She could no longer wait. “Are you ready, chérie?”
“As I’ll ever be. Don’t make me wait Philippe.” Despite her initial reticence Françoise was gentle, allowing her moments to become accustomed to the intrusion. Dale nodded ever so slightly before her wife began to move, setting an almost lazy rhythm. It was at odds with the maelstrom swirling in the indigo depths. “Trust yourself…” For a moment those eyes cleared, looking down at her in loving intensity.
Dale’s hands slid up the two strong arms anchoring her to the table. As she watched, her partner’s eyes flickered to the far wall before returning to her prone form. “Love me…” A gentle smile crossed those lips but was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by an ever-increasing sense of purpose. Dale could feel her passion rise, swelling and tossing like a stormy sea caught in the pull of a hurricane.
Françoise tried to hold back, afraid of what might happen. She looked down into those trusting eyes and her heart melted, the emotion almost painful in her chest. Could she? Should she? Françoise had wanted to show this pig of a man that she was, in fact, a man. She had control over all aspects of her life and had no weaknesses. He needed to know that Dale was hers and hers alone. She knew he was there watching, avaricious eyes studying their every move. Dale was not going to become a bargaining piece in this game between the two of them if she could help it.
“I do not want to hurt you, chérie.”
“And you won’t Philippe,” Dale whispered. “Do as you will, my husband.” The blonde’s voice rose for the benefit of whoever was near. Her hips began to move, gently undulating slowly to begin the dance.
Françoise never let her eyes leave Dale’s, watching carefully for any discomfort she may cause. While this display was for show she would stop at one sign of pain on Dale’s part. Nothing was worth the price of hurting her wife. Maybe she should just kill the man and be done with it. “You deserve better than this.”
“Ch… chalk it up to experience… hmmm…. my… oh… love.” Slowly the leather fed the flames, fiery tendrils licking at her libido. “Oh yeah… keep doing that.”
Françoise smiled. Trust her partner to find the bright side to this charade. Her smile faded as her hips slapped the edge of the table, sending a shudder though her body. A moan escaped her as nerve endings leapt into life. Unconsciously she moved a little harder, her hands moving from Dale’s hips to her bodice to rest over covered breasts. As much as she wanted to uncover them they were for her eyes and her eyes only.
Dale struggled to form coherent thoughts. How was it that she had never felt like this on past occasions? And how was it that this woman could wield it better than any man she had ever been intimate with? If she wasn’t so involved in the intense sensations skittering across her skin at that moment she would have laughed. Trust Françoise to show the men how to do it…
“Oh God… Fra… Phil…” The feeling was indescribable. Françoise had the hips of a demon and the hands of an angel. The woman was everywhere, not lingering long enough in any one spot for her to grow weary of the attention. It was a total possession that she never wanted to be saved from. “Show me your fire…” There. She had finally asked for what she truly wanted.
Those four words unlocked the chains around the French woman’s heart. Many had asked for all of her but to only one she would grant it. Only one… THE one. So she did the only thing she could do… let go. Let go of the mistrust, the anger and the control, feeling true freedom for the first time in her life.
Dale could see it, watching the change in her partner. The years dropped away and she saw that innocent young girl of fifteen who was still filled with a joie de vivre before fate, and covetous parents, took that away from her. Her hands restlessly slid along soft skin, drawing the French woman from her thoughts. Those blue eyes sharpened, the color becoming rich and vibrant in the muted light of the cabin. “Show me your fire…” she repeated, subtly shifting her hips to encourage the request.
Françoise smiled. It was a smile that crossed the boundaries of their friendship and love to something more ethereal, more timeless. It was something that had crossed time to unite them.
And so Françoise showed Dale that part of herself that had never been revealed to anyone. In the touch of a finger or the subtle shift of a hip, the French woman loved her blonde as she had no other. Not showing her infinite patience and need for control, Françoise took hold of the moment and soared, grabbing onto the intense emotional link that seemed to shimmer between them. It was… magic.
Dale had felt as if she had left her earthly body behind her. Her partner loved her in a way that she had not experienced before. It was spontaneous, powerful in intensity and freely shared. Her mind was swept away under the brunette’s onslaught. Passion flowed like a rare wine, deep, dark, rich and potent, and she was getting giddy on its heady aroma.
Bold fingers kneaded the blonde’s cloth-covered flesh boldly claiming what she knew was hers. Françoise closed her eyes, allowing her body to just respond. This time it was not a matter of sights and sounds, but things less tangible. Matters of the heart and mind guided her hands and hips, expressing all that she was to Dale.
She dipped her lips to touch the soft skin. “Je t’aime, mon amour.” The words were deep and sensual, touching a core in the small woman that was blazing brightly.
“Moi aussi…” Dale replied, catching her breath at a particularly intense moment. Without conscious thought her legs moved, sliding up over the belt around her lover’s waist.
Françoise watched Dale’s eyes, the irises slipping from a meadow green to a deep emerald. “Ahhh oui, ma chérie.” Those were the last words she articulated. Any further speech was lost as she buried herself time and again into Dale’s soft warmth. She was lost, so totally lost and she didn’t give a damn who was watching.
Small explosions of bright light crossed her vision so Dale finally gave in and just closed her eyes. It was at that moment that her universe came into clear focus. The ‘why’s and ‘how’s no longer mattered, only the ‘who’. Françoise continued to draw her towards the heavens, neither slowing down nor relenting. It was exquisite.
Need drove the French woman to continue. The feeling was beyond words so she expressed none, instead resorting to moans and whimpers that needed release. She could feel it, the light at the end of the tunnel that held both warmth and comfort. Eagerly she sought it, striving for the completion that was lingering just out of her reach. Her heart wanted it, craved it and needed it, so she denied herself nothing. Françoise bent her head to take Dale’s cloth covered nipple in her mouth, suckling energetically as her hips crashed into the table edge.
The blonde’s back ached as the tidal wave swept over her. She opened her mouth but no sound came. The pleasure was everywhere, touching hidden places that she didn’t know she had. Neck muscles distended in reaction, cutting off her air. But she didn’t care. The pleasure came and came and seemed to never end. When she could stand it no longer her fingers dug into the powerful arms holding her.
Françoise had wished that she could have watched the blossoming of Dale but she had been totally swept aside by her own completion. She was drowning in a sea of exquisitely painful bliss, not even aware that her hips were still moving. “Mon Dieu!” she cried to the four walls surrounding them.
It took several moments before either of them was aware of their surroundings. Françoise withdrew, quickly buttoning up her pants. Silently, she helped Dale to her feet and, with out a word, left the room. The blonde watched the broad back recede, wondering what she had done wrong.
* * *
Françoise stood at the rail looking out over the swelling ocean, her thoughts in as much turmoil as the water beneath her. A rapidly building storm in the distance filled her mind, her thoughts tossed around like pieces of paper under the onslaught of the raw emotions swirling inside her. The enormity of the situation had finally hit her. Until now, her life with Dale had been wonderful and exciting, but the truth was finally revealed to her. This was forever. Dale was right.
* * *
How could something so right suddenly be so wrong? On the verge of tears, Dale took comfort on the bunk they shared. The aroma of her wife still clung to her clothes, silently mocking her. The knock on the door went unheeded until a second knock telegraphed an urgency in the visitor. “Entrez!” She sat up as the door swung open. “What do you want?”
Dark eyes swept over the seated figure on the bed. Only moments before he had seen her in rapture and now she was cloaked in a sweet innocence that made him want her even more. “I see that your husband has left you, little one.”
Dale did not need a translation to know what the Captain had said. She saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice. However, she thought he wouldn’t be so foolish as to try anything with Françoise nearby. “Monsieur, sortez s'il vous plaît.”
A wry chuckle escaped those parched lips. “I should not need an invitation, madame. After all, this is my cabin.” The stocky man edged forward slowly, closing the distance between himself and the woman who had now stood. He held up his hands in entreaty, as if trying to gentle a horse. “Now, now little one. There is no need for you to be scared.”
Dale watched the man move closer until he was an arm’s length away from her. Whatever he wanted it was not for conversation. Françoise, where are you? Her mind screamed for help but she knew that the mental call would not be heard. “Stay back, Captain.” She had nowhere to go with her back pressed against the wall, her hands in front of her as a rather feeble barrier against him.
Rough, gnarled fingers grabbed her arms, pinning her in place. As he moved those last few inches to make contact, Dale’s knee came up and found her target sending the man reeling to the floor clutching his manhood. A menacing growl escaped his lips as the pain surged through his body, but it did not distract him enough to grab a handful of dress as the small woman tried to run to the door. “You are making this difficult, madame, when it does not need to be.”
“Let… let go!” Dale tugged frantically at the hem of her dress, trying to dislodge the meaty hand holding onto it. She lashed out again with her foot but to no avail, the bulging arm flexing as he pulled her towards him, the tattoos on his flesh dancing macabrely with each exertion.
The door flung open to reveal an angry young man, blazing blue eyes targeting the source of his ire. Françoise’s heart was still beating frantically from the moment Rosalie alerted her to Dale’s predicament to when she stepped through the door. “Let her go!” The voice boomed through the room, bouncing ominously off the wooden walls in all directions.
The Captain stopped in his tracks, his attention now drawn to the large moving body quickly approaching him. His hands rose in surrender but had little effect on the fists raining down on him. “Monsieur, please…”
“Please? I think not you sorry excuse for a Frenchman.” Strength borne from rage bodily lifted the rotund man to his feet. She all but dragged him through the door, down the short corridor to the deck, before throwing him the last few feet to land with a thud in front of his men. “Vous m'en rendrez raison!” she bellowed to the gusting wind.
“Is there a problem monsieur?” Rumkey approached slowly, not wanting to become a target of the young man’s ire.
“This… this… putrid piece of water scum attacked my wife!” Françoise paced erratically, her fury seeking an outlet. She drew her sword, waving it ominously in the Captain’s face.
“You… you must be mistaken… Philippe.” The wiry little man tried using his first name in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
“Rumkey! I know what I saw. That… man… was grabbing at my wife’s dress.” But Françoise took some of the blame for the situation. She had badly underestimated the effect the voyeurism would have on the man’s libido. Instead of placating his suspicions it only fed his need.
The first mate looked at his Captain lying on the deck. “Is that true, Cap’n?”
“True? You are taking the word of this… this… child over the word of your Captain?”
“He was in our room! He was on the floor grabbing at her dress. What more do you need to know?” Agitation etched the clean planes of Françoise’s face.
“What’s going on?” Dale had stood to the side while her wife handled the situation, but the tic in Françoise’s jaw told her it was not going well.
“Nothing, chérie.”
“But he attacked me.”
“I know…. Dale. I am trying to make them see what he really is.”
“She invited me in,” he said smugly.
“You invited him in?” Françoise couldn’t believe that Dale would do such a thing.
“There was a knock on the door. I thought it was you. So I said ‘entrez’. When I saw it was… him,” Dale nodded distastefully in the direction of the Captain, “I asked him to leave.”
“Then what happened?”
“He came towards me and when he grabbed me I kneed him in the groin.”
“Groin?”
“Manhood.”
Françoise winced at the thought but the man deserved no less. But it was comforting to think that Dale would respond if she was in danger. After that first day in the woods she had her reservations about leaving the woman alone. It seemed that destiny had chosen her a worthy mate.
The imposing young man with the jet black hair turned his attention back to the Captain, who was now on his feet. “Answer Monsieur Rumkey’s question, Captain. Did you attack my wife?”
“If you have to ask, then you doubt it also.” He still did not answer.
“Answer, damn you!” Françoise rushed him, pushing the flabby body against the railing. Her sword rested against his neck to emphasize her point. “Admit it! You attacked my wife!” He did nothing but smile.
“Why are you wasting time believing this son of a pig?” Lucette could see the man was confident to the point of arrogance and was relying on his power over his men to get him out of trouble.
“Shut your mouth, whore!”
“Captain, I would suggest you keep that wayward tongue of yours in your mouth!” Menace tainted each and every word muttered by Sébastien. “This lady has the right…”
“Lady?” He laughed boisterously. “Has she not told you what she does, blacksmith?”
“Don’t lecture me, you piece of crap.” The giant of a man took a step towards the chubby Captain, his sheer size scaring the coward back a step or two. “Lucette may be a whore…” Sébastien said the word but tempered it with a gentle smile at the madam. “… but as far as I am concerned you, sir, are the one prostituting himself here. Taking advantage of this gentle flower in such a way…” His hand swept towards Dale.
“Gentle flower? Look at her and tell me she is not inviting such advances.”
“Why you…” Both the blacksmith and the aristocrat battled for the space that would have put them in front of their adversary.
“I do not know what all the fuss is about. She would have enjoyed my attention had we not been interrupted.”
“She is married, you dolt!” Lucette doubted that the man could be that stupid, so he must have been crazy.
“So you say, woman.” He smiled slyly as if betraying a secret.
“See? He admits it with his own words. Can you deny me justice?” The Captain was an insufferable pig.
“I am the Captain of this vessel and my word is law.” His words were met with murmurs from the crew.
“Law is it?” She couldn’t help but pull the man away from the railing then slamming him back against it, drawing a whimper before a quiet chuckle escaped his lips. Françoise was so tempted to run him through to wipe that sick smile from his face.
“You raped those poor women below.”
“They are but slaves. They are nothing.”
Françoise hesitated. Had she not said that long ago to Dale about Madeleine? No! She was not like that. She had dismissed the woman’s opinions, not her life. Her servants were well looked after and paid. They could have left any time they wanted. She was not a tyrant, was she?
“They are not nothing.” She was beginning to realize that now, now that she had no power. All life was precious. “My wife is not nothing. Do you hear me? She is very precious to me and I will not allow you to go unpunished for this attack.”
“And who’s going to help you, eh? This is my ship and my men. They are loyal to me.”
Françoise removed her fist buried in the Captain’s dirty jacket and backed away. The sword in her hand vibrated menacingly. She was so, so close to committing murder. She wanted… she needed… retribution. Françoise angrily paced back and forth. “Give the Captain a weapon!”
“Philippe–”
“Stay out of this, tantine!” Blazing shards of sapphire stared the Captain down. “Rumkey, find the Captain a sword.”
“Monsieur, this is not wise–”
“I do not care! I demand satisfaction! This…this…man attacked my wife! It cannot go undefended.” The tall woman flexed her rapier and made a few cursory swipes with moderate skill.
The hefty man looked his opponent up and down. “Oui, my sword please, Rumkey.” He smile wickedly as the pommel was slapped into his hand. His dark eyes ran up the edge of his weapon, imaging the acute sharpness of it slicing those skin and muscle. “This should not take long…,” he chuckled, drawing a snicker from a handful of the crew.
Françoise finally looked at her opponent and the weapon he was swinging. It was far heavier than her own and would easily break through her defenses. Before she could utter a word the handle of a similar sword was presented to her. The fresh breeze started to pick up, blowing the long tendrils in her plait into wild disarray.
“It must be a fair duel, monsieur,” Rumkey muttered, his eyes meeting the young man’s standing there about to defend his wife’s honor.
“Merci.” Her allies were found in the unlikeliest of places. Behind the Captain stood Sébastien, his trunk-like arms crossed over his barrel chest. She could see from the look in his eye that he would step in and stop the fight if it became necessary.
The cutlass felt heavy in her hand, throwing off the balance she had acquired with the lighter weapon. Not only was she fighting a man she detested but she would also be fighting her own waning stamina. It was a situation that she needed to finish, and quickly.
The breeze had picked up, flicking wisps of dark hair into her face. Françoise looked up at the sky and noticed the closing cloud. On the far horizon dark, angry clouds were gathering, illuminated once or twice by a flicker of bright light. A storm was approaching. It was as if everything was working against her need for justice.
“Whenever you are ready, monsieur,” the Captain sneered, watching amusedly as the young man primped and preened.
It angered Françoise that he seemed so smug about the whole situation, like it was his God-given right to assault Dale. With her righteous indignation in place, she stood in the ready position, eyeing him closely for his opening move.
From the first swing of his weapon Françoise knew she was in for a fight. He obviously had a good grasp of swordplay and superior weight behind him while she had youth and guile on her side. Little contact was made at first, each combatant studying the other for strengths and weaknesses and looking for an opportunity to strike.
She allowed her anger full rein and moved in to engage him, thrusting the weapon directly at his chest. Its weight lay heavy in her palm as she tried to hold the blade steady. The Captain batted it aside and took a swipe at her midsection. Françoise barely had time to react before the blade came perilously close to gutting her. She backed away, her anger settling to simmering hatred and a healthy dose of caution.
The crew formed a circle around them, closing off any means of retreat. Most of the comments supported the Captain but her heart found one voice that was meant for her. Dale had thrown her verbal weight behind Françoise’s fight and she took strength from that, launching another attack. Her movements were sluggish and lacked refinement, and she soon realized that what she had learned with a rapier only partly applied here. The quicksilver style of the rapier was impossible with the heavier weapon.
They circled one another, the clang of metal cutting through the sounds of the rising wind and the billowing sail. Françoise pressed her advantage in a series of swings, the blade arcing overhead as she tried to beat the Captain into submission. In the last swing of her attack she felt pain across her brow, unaware that a blade had opened up her skin. It was not possible. The Captain’s sword was directly underneath her own. How could that be?
It was then that she noticed a dagger in his other hand, its edge tinged in red. Blood… her blood. He could not even fight fair. Her left hand reached out and grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to strike again. They stood locked together, swords crossed and a dagger hovering close to Françoise’s face.
“You cannot even fight honorably… Captain!” She spat out the last word as if it was spawned from the Devil.
“On the high seas, monsieur…,” he breathed menacingly, “…there are no rules. There are only those who live and those who die.”
“Cap’n!” Rumkey interjected.
“Stay out of this, traitor!”
“Storm ho!”
“Good. That whore of yours had been whining about wanting a bath…,” he snickered, feeding Françoise’s anger.
She pushed away and lunged at him. It was almost too late when she saw that his comments were designed to make her angry and act foolishly. As the blade came towards her she arched her back as it passed by. While it was a dangerous move, it gave her the opportunity to swipe her sword in an arc towards his unprotected back. There was a satisfying cry of pain from her swarthy opponent as the blade cut deep. Immediately his shirt became crimson, first as a patch of red then two tracks of blood running down the dirty white material.
“Had enough, Captain?” Françoise put all her menace into those few words, trying to end the confrontation.
“It is but a scratch…”
“But Captain–”
“What!”
“The storm is nearly upon us!” The First Mate’s voice had to increase in volume to combat the sounds of the approaching squall.
“It seems you live another day, monsieur.” The Captain lowered his sword as the duel came to an end.
Françoise was so tempted just to run him through at this point but, unlike the Captain, she wanted to win this particular fight in the spirit that it began. There would be no justice if she ignored the protocols of the duel. She wanted to win fairly, thereby proving her claim honorably. She had to settle the matter quickly or it would be swallowed up in the maelstrom.
“Storm ‘ho!”
Decaying teeth peeked out as the Captain smiled. “It seems that I am the one holding all the cards, monsieur. How do you expect to sail out of this storm without me?”
Françoise looked at the crew. “And what do you say Rumkey?”
“He’s right, monsieur. He is our best hope of riding out this gale.”
The tall woman leant against the railing looking at the approaching tempest, clouds dark and menacing rolling towards them at terrifying speed. Jagged streaks of lighting hit the water, followed moments later by the sounds of cannon fire, the thunder rumbling with ferocity.
“This is not over yet, Captain.” She took a step towards the Captain, standing in his personal space. “But just remember one mistake from you and you go down with this ship with the rest of us.”
“Lower the sails!” The wiry little man scuttled around the deck, directing the crew to pull down the canvas.
* * *
Françoise found her wife in the chaos and directed her towards the cabin. “You look after Lucette and her girls. They are a little nervous.”
“They’re not the only ones…”
Françoise smiled. “You? The one who stepped through a mirror to find me? You are one of the bravest people I know, mon amour.” The smile dropped from her lips but not from her eyes. “Tie down whatever you can.”
“But…”
“No time for talk, chérie. I will be there soon.”
“You will?” Dale didn’t know what to think at the moment. Her lover had taken control and her attention was elsewhere. Suddenly she didn’t feel important anymore. It was a ridiculous thought, she knew that, but jealousy was never an emotion that was governed by common sense. Far from it. It was self-centering, greedy and totally uncontrollable.
“Of course, ma chérie. I would never leave you alone in a storm.” An index finger rose to caress a water-spattered cheek. The French woman had seen that look in her partner’s eye. “There is no one but you.”
“Good.” Dale turned on her heels and ushered the women towards the cabins.
* * *
“What can I do to help, monsieur?” Françoise stood there awaiting her orders.
“Find cover, Monsieur Philippe.”
“Do you believe me, Rumkey?”
He looked over his shoulder at the blustering man waving his arms at the storm. “Oui, I do.”
“Then why do you allow him to do what he does?”
“He is the Captain.”
“A title does not make a Captain.” And a title does not make a human being… Françoise couldn’t help but make the comparison between this man and her dead husband.
“It is an unwritten law, monsieur. The Captain is always obeyed. We may not like it but that is the way it is. In the meantime, I would suggest that you secure yourself in your cabin.”
“What about the slaves below?”
“What about them, monsieur?”
“Rumkey… call me Philippe. Do not keep stumbling over my name.” She smiled for a moment before her sobriety returned. “You cannot leave them chained up below.”
“Is it any worse than being up on deck unprotected?”
“Of course it is! Those poor souls below should not even be here except for his greed. If this ship goes down they need a chance to survive. Chained up would mean certain death.”
“I do not have time for this. The storm will be upon us shortly. Do what you will.” And he was gone, quickly and efficiently pulling on ropes to lower the sail.
Dale would never forgive her if she did nothing. Françoise had to admit that a few short weeks ago she would not have been given the matter a second thought. Now her present circumstances uncovered revelations that she had never considered before. Had she not been sold into slavery by her own parents? Forced to live in an abusive household? Granted she had a title but that was of no worth until her husband had died. She had been a slave in a gilded cage.
Françoise climbed down into the hold to the small platform just below the deck. The smell was indescribable. Foul-smelling odors emanated from the dark space where the slaves were housed. Barely more than two feet high, the platform lay just under the length of the deck. Here the slaves lay, chained to wooden blocks running the length of the space. Suddenly she felt guilty for being a slave living in such opulence.
“Est-ce que quelqu'un parle français?” There seemed to be silence, but she was not sure. The howling wind was buffeting her ears, so she asked again. “Est-ce que quelqu'un parle français?”
A lone voice cut through the darkness. “Moi.”
“Quel est votre nom?”
“Mon nom est Badoo.”
“Badoo, a storm is approaching. Do you want to live?”
“A storm?” There were anxious voices among the slaves as he murmured the words in his own language.
“Listen to me. I will find someone to open these shackles.”
“Why? Why do you do this?” The words emerged from the darkness but the suspicion, and the fear, remained.
“Why? I want you to have a chance to survive.”
“He did not care. Why do you?”
“Because I know what it is like to be a slave…” Françoise did not wait for an answer, instead searching for a sailor to free them. No, she didn’t know what it was like to be a slave like them. Her own life, as miserable as it was, was a luxury compared to what these people endured. No, and she didn’t want to know either.
It took several minutes of arguing before Rumkey relented and allowed one of the crew to undo the locks. One by one the slaves emerged to a darkening sky. The rain had started to fall and was picking up intensity. When the one called Badoo stepped onto the deck she drew him aside.
“We can use some help.”
“Why should we?”
“Because I will free you of him…” Françoise pointed to the stern and the Captain, “…and because we will all die if you do not.”
* * *
Dale looked around the room. For a Captain, the man certainly was a pig. Moments before she had left the others to secure whatever they could before meeting in the Captain’s cabin. As much as she wanted Françoise all to herself the woman had the knack of making her feel safe. With the coming storm Françoise’s cool head was going to come in handy for all concerned.
She put away their belongings first. If the ship was going to be tossed around, then his knick knacks could go out the window for all she cared. Everything went into the trunk, as well as the maps, charts and navigational equipment. The flasks of water and dried food that had been secreted away in the bottom of the box were removed just in case.
The mirror frame was wedged against the wall and behind the trunk but any serious buffeting during the storm could damage it. Fear spiked through her. What if it was damaged beyond repair? What would happen to her? To them? It would all be gone. There would be no mirror to discover and no Françoise to love. The thought of losing her lover in such a way was nearly paralyzing in intensity, leaving her shaking with fear. She had to fight for them, to preserve what had been written by fate.
Dale looked around the room. There was barely any furniture and certainly nowhere obvious to put the piece for safe keeping. Her eyes rose to the roof of the cabin in thought. What she saw made her laugh.
* * *
“Badoo, where are the others?”
“They will not come out, monsieur.”
“We have to cover the hole to stop water flooding the ship.”
“No matter, monsieur. They are frightened that they will be punished. They will not move.”
“But…” Françoise sighed. She couldn’t blame them. “Tell them that the… the… hole will be closed, but only for the length of the storm. Tell them everything will be fine.”
As the black man babbled in his native tongue Rumkey approached them. “I have found you a few extra hands, Rumkey. Badoo here can speak French. Use them as you will.” As she spoke the hatch was covered, blocking out all light to the platform below. There were a few anxious cries as the darkness came and Badoo tried to settle them with soothing words.
“So… Monsieur Philippe…” The strange tone of the first mate’s voice drew her attention away from the work.
“Pardon?” Françoise watched his eyes drop to her shirt, her own eyes following. “Oh…” She had been caught. The rain had soaked her clothes and made her shirt nearly transparent. Stupid… stupid… stupid. Even though her chest was still bound it was obvious who… or what she was. “Ahhh….”
A wide grin split the man’s face. “I think you should go see to your wife’s needs. Do you not think so, monsieur?” His eyes danced merrily as he watched her squirm under his regard. He let her worry for a moment longer before giving her a wink. He grabbed Badoo’s arm and guided him towards the slaves cowering on the deck.
* * *
Françoise didn’t know what to think. What will happen now? In a perverse sort of way she was glad that it was over. The bandage and the leather piece had been slowly driving her crazy. Her breasts were sore and she was rubbed nearly raw from all the constant wearing. She just wanted to be done with it. With her mind contemplating these questions she didn’t even knock, instead entering the Captain’s cabin without much thought or conscious direction.
“There you are. I was about to send a rescue party.”
“Hmmm…”
“Come here and let me take care of that cut you have.”
“What cut?” Dale’s finger rose to touch her forehead, coming away smeared with blood. “’Tis but a scratch.”
“Well, I would feel better if I looked at it.”
“There is no time, chérie–”
“We will make time. Now sit!” Grudgingly Françoise sat down in the Captain’s chair while Dale busied herself around her.
“By the way, I found the mirror.”
“That is good.”
Dale could see that her lover’s mind was preoccupied. “And there’s a huge fluffy pink rabbit sitting in the corner.”
“Uh huh….. Pardon? Did… did you say ‘rabbit’?”
“Ahhh… there you are. I wondered where you were.”
“Rabbit? Where?”
“I was just pulling your leg.”
“You are nowhere near my leg. Stop this nonsense, chérie. This is serious.”
“It is a joke, Françoise. Your mind was elsewhere. I was just seeing how long it would take you to realize I was talking nonsense.”
“Pfffttt…. You and un lapin. Très drôle.”
Dale applied the herbal paste she had mixed together, making sure that the cut was liberally covered with the ointment. “Now, keep that clean.” She tore off a piece of the cotton in the trunk, tying around Françoise’s head before she could complain.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Yes.” Dale leaned down and placed a kiss on her lover’s injury. “Now you can go play with the kids.” It was then that Dale noticed the state of Françoise’s shirt. “Ummm…” She waved a finger at the buttons.
“Oui, I have been discovered.”
Green eyes nervously sought out blue ones. “So, now what?”
“Now?” Françoise unbuttoned her shirt and began to remove the bandage. “There is no need to wear this any longer.” Her hand reached for the buttons on her pants. “Or this. I am glad.” She just stood there after she had removed the offending items, allowing the breeze to flow over her naked body. “Ohhhh… that is better.”
“It sure is…” Dale’s eyes skimmed over the uncovered flesh, re-acquainting herself with a body she longed to touch. It pained her to see the scars of pretending to be a man, the skin red and chafed from the constant contact, and she wished to kiss it all away.
“You are incorrigible...”
“Huh?” Doe eyes looked up at a brooding stare from the French woman.
“Never mind…” Françoise muttered, rummaging through the trunk for her spare shirt. The soaked cloth she had been wearing hit the floor with a slap and a gentle sigh left her lips as the dry shirt touched her skin. “Heaven…”
“And we’re sailing right into Hell.”
“So true, chérie. So true.” Her eyes scanned the room for somewhere to hang out the wet clothes but besides the window there was none.
“You want a laugh?”
“Now?”
“Sure. Look up.”
Françoise did as she was asked. “Incroyable….” There sitting between two rafters was the mirror. ‘We both got our wish.”
“Oh no. Not quite. I want you naked, my love. All skin and muscle, thank you very much.”
“Skin and… Mon Dieu! You have such an imagination.” She couldn’t help but chuckle at Dale’s erotic picture.
“I love the way you move, chérie, and no amount of clothes is going to stop me watching you make love to me in any form I so desire.” Dale smiled as her lover’s fingers twitched. “But that is for another time. Come on, I’m running out of time here…” Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. “That’ll be the others.”
“It is going to be very crowded in here, Dale.”
“No different from any other night, my love.”
“But we will all be wide awake. And there will be Monsieur Barbineau.”
“I’m sure Rosalie won’t complain.”
“I am sure you are right. No cuddling?”
“Oh, cuddling is allowed. Just nothing else.”
“I have never made love on a storm-tossed sea…” Françoise said dreamily. She wanted to experience Dale in all her forms.
“Another day and another time. We have the rest of our lives.”
“That we do, ma petite sauvage, that we do.” Unless, of course, the rest of their lives ended at nightfall.
Lucette and her girls entered the cabin, closely followed by Sébastien. Françoise felt a hand slip inside her own and she looked down into trusting eyes. If things turned bad she knew she wasn’t alone.
Not a word was spoken as slack jaws and wide eyes tried to grasp what was in front of them.
“Well… that is a surprise.”
“The rain revealed me, tantine. I am glad the hiding is over.”
“You knew?” Rosalie was still trying to understand what was going on.
“Oui, I knew.” Lucette was fairly sure that her girls would accept this but she was not so sure of the blacksmith.
“And you Sébastien?” Somehow what the man thought was of importance to Françoise.
“It answers some questions.”
“Like what?”
“When you came in that first day you looked… hmmm… too… too… pretty to be a man. Now I know why......, madame la comtesse.”
Now Françoise was the one to gasp. She felt her hand squeezed by Dale and her eyes slid once more to her wife. What could she say?
“It was obvious you were hiding, madame, so that marked you as aristocracy.”
Lucette stepped in between them, facing the blacksmith. “So now you make a decision, monsieur.” Anger seeped into every word. “Who will you reveal this to, eh? The Captain? Or maybe you will wait for the authorities at St. Domingue?”
The brawny man held up his hands. “Un moment, Lucette.” The madam let the name slip by for the moment. “Did I say anything about revealing her secret? Please, let me finish.” He looked over the top of the older woman to Françoise. “Madame la comtesse …”
“Please Sébastien that is all gone now. Call me Françoise.” She was still coming to terms with that despite everything she had said. It was hard to just erase over ten years of one’s life without at least a bit of resistance, even if that existence was nothing more than slavery. “How did you know who I was? Did Gérard confide in you?”
“Non, madame. It was simple deduction. I knew where Gérard lived and who the local aristocracy were. He talked about them often. You were obviously held in high regard by him… Françoise… and he does not give away that trust readily.”
“Oh…” Her heart beat a little faster at the compliment. Her own love for the old man she left behind rose another notch.
“And of course what happened at Lucette’s when le comte was visiting was a juicy tale.” His pale eyes looked at the madam with interest and a little affection, a sign that did not go unnoticed by the older woman. “Do not dismiss what you did for these women, madame. Your generosity has not gone unnoticed.”
“A little money…”
“Non, madame, not the money. The concern. The care you bestowed. One does not easily forget that. Am I right, Lucette?”
“Oui… Sébastien.” Lucette watched the older man glance her way and she batted her eyes coquettishly. Internally she laughed. She hadn’t done anything so… so… childishly romantic as that since she was twelve years old.
The blacksmith had to look twice. Was the brothel madam blushing? “I can see why Gérard loved you so much Françoise. Your secret is safe with me.”
Françoise released her pent-up breath in relief. She grabbed his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. Maybe she had more effect on these people than she had originally thought. She had never considered what she did as anything special. It was more a penance she felt she had to do after what her husband had subjected them to. Maybe it was the fact that she too felt a prisoner that separated her from the rest of her class.
The ship lurched as the storm hit. “Everyone find somewhere to sit. It may be a while…” Françoise turned her attention to the young girl. “Rosalie, would you please find Monsieur Barbineau and bring him here. I am sure he would prefer to be with company during this tempest.” Françoise could see that the girl was smitten with the young man, and she suspected that the feeling was reciprocated, so a chance to put them together during a storm seemed a good idea.
“Stop playing matchmaker…” Dale murmured. When her lover looked at her she replied, “Just because you are speaking in French don’t think I don’t know what you are doing.”
“Maybe it was destined to be, chérie. Did you ever think of that?”
“If it was destined to be, my love, it doesn’t need you interfering in it.”
“But… but… I cannot have you. What else is there to do?”
“Kick that son of a bitch at the wheel.”
“Son of a… what?”
“You heard what I said. Son… of… a… bitch. I’m sure you’ve heard swear words before my love.”
“Not ones so colorful as that. Hmmmm… son of a bitch… fils d'une chienne.”
“One day, you’ll have to teach me some French ones.”
“Not today.”
“No… not today.”
* * *
The heavens shook and the sea rebelled as the storm did its worst to the small vessel. The decks were awash with water, sending more than one sailor crashing into the side. Everything that could be tied down had been and the decks cleared of unwanted men. There were two crew on the wheel, struggling to hold their course through a sea that had no soul. It was as if God himself was testing their mettle as seamen to see if they were worthy to travel across his domain. More than once Rumkey looked to the heavens for salvation.
Dale had to close her eyes as the hypnotic swaying of the lantern was making her sick. She looked around the cabin at the mass of humanity cowering there. The storm had been raging for some time now, pitching and rolling the vessel with monotonous regularity. One of Lucette’s girls, Violette, had already succumbed to the storm, heaving energetically into the bucket they had used for… well, she didn’t want to think too much about what they had used that bucket for.
“Chérie?” She looked up at the concerned face of her lover.
“Yeah?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Besides my stomach, which has become a milkshake?”
“Milk… Does that mean you are ill?”
“Not as bad as her…” Dale nodded towards Violette whose bloodshot eyes rose to meet them. “I’ll manage.”
“It should not last much longer,” Françoise predicted. The roar of the wind had dropped to a howl and the blinding flash through the window had become less frequent. It looked like they were going to survive. Her eyes swept the room, a smile touching her lips as they fell on Lucette and Sébastien. She nudged her partner, nodding her head in the direction of the couple.
“Well, well…” It took Dale’s mind off her queasy stomach when she saw the two of them sitting together, the brothel madam tucked under the blacksmith’s brawny arm. They were quietly talking and were oblivious to being observed. “Awwww… that is just so damned cute.” She chuckled. “It seems lots of things are going right. Now if we can reach America I’ll be happy.”
“I will do my best, chérie.”
“I know you will, my love. I’m just happy to be where you are.”
Françoise felt that tickle around her heart again. It always seemed to strike whenever Dale said something… mushy. Romantic declarations were new to her and her partner was full of them. Was there such a thing as drowning from too much love?
“And what about them?” A gentle nudge in her side drew the French woman’s attention to the other couple. Rosalie was asleep in Alain’s arms.
“It is making me sick…,” the wily old cook mumbled, one tired eyeball swiveling in their direction.
“You have no romance in your soul, Honorine.”
“I have plenty of romance, young pup, but you will not see it.”
A knock at the door drew everyone’s attention. “Monsieur… err… Philippe. May I have a word with you?”
“Entrez, Rumkey.”
“Out here, please.”
Françoise disengaged herself from Dale’s arms, rising in one fluid motion from the bunk. “What’s going on?”
“I do not know yet, mon amour. Rumkey has asked for a moment of my time.” She held up her hands as the questions began to flow from the dozen people in the room. Her legs took a moment to adjust to the sway, her walk more a stagger as she made her way across the room. “It seems the storm is…”
“Close the door please, madame.” The serious look on his face caused some concern. As the door closed, he murmured, “We have lost the Captain.”
Françoise shifted uncomfortably. “How so?” In a way she felt robbed of her chance to defend Dale’s honor.
“A wave swept over the bridge, taking him and two of the crew over the side.”
“What do we do now?”
“I am not sure… monsieur.”
“Françoise…”
He momentarily smiled, “…Françoise.”
“It seems you are now the Captain, Rumkey.”
“I can sail a ship, madame, but I cannot read the charts. For all I know, we could be sailing back to France.”
“I am sure that you are a very competent sailor, Rumkey. Alright.” The tall woman stood there for a minute in thought. “How is the storm?”
“We are nearly through it.”
“When we have cleared it, tie off the wheel. We will meet in this cabin and make some decisions.”
“Very well, madame… Captain…” He grinned at her shocked look, chuckling as he turned away to return to the deck. “Oh… what shall we do with the slaves?”
“When it is safe to do so, remove the cover. Allow them to come above deck for fresh air. We will decide on their fate later. Bring Badoo with you.”
“Aye…”
* * *
Françoise leaned against the wall for a while, listening to the creak of wood as the ship rolled with the tide. She banged her head against the wall in frustration. Why was it that everyone thought she had the answers? Most of her adult life had been spent following orders. If she deviated one bit from them she was punished. It didn’t take long for her to realize that it was just easier to hide her wild streak deep within her. After he died it took her many months to accept that she was her own woman. He had won, or so she thought at the time. Blue eyes looked at the door leading to the Captain’s cabin. No… she had won. Dale. Her lover. Her life. Her wife. Dale had defeated him by showing her all that she could be, and for that she would be eternally grateful. Françoise pushed away from the wall and walked through the door towards her destiny.
* * *
Dale sat quietly waiting for Françoise’s return. The room was alive with chatter after her wife had left the room. What was so important that it couldn’t be discussed in front of them? Not that she would understand them. It was at that point that she realized that she couldn’t survive here, not without her French woman. She wouldn’t want to either. At that moment Françoise walked through the door. Dale’s heart leapt with joy. It was a strange sensation and one that she hoped she never tired of.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Ahhh…”
“What is going on?” “We are all going to die!” “I told you, you young whippersnapper…”
“Quiet!” Françoise had debated what to tell them. She could lie but it would only be a matter of time before they noticed the Captain was missing, then where would she be? On the end of Dale’s temper for one thing. And Lucette? She didn’t even want to think about that. She held up her hands waiting for the noise to subside. “The Captain was swept overboard during the storm.” The murmuring started again.
Dale pulled on her lover’s sleeve. “Are you gonna tell me or do I play charades?”
“The Captain is gone. A wave took him.”
“Good riddance to the son of a bitch…”
Françoise’s eyes turned to Dale, watching her as the expletives came. “My my, such language, chérie.”
“He deserves worse than that.” Stormy eyes looked up into the tall woman’s. “You seem awfully calm about this. Aren’t you boiling mad? I sure as hell am!”
“Can we discuss this later?”
“Why? They don’t understand!” Dale swept her arm to indicate the others in the room.
“I do…” A distinctly male voice spoke up.
“All this time we have been together and now you tell me?” Dale moved over to Alain, her finger already poking him in the chest. “I have been alone and you didn’t even bother to come up and talk to me?” She was agitated and getting madder by the minute. “What is the matter with you people, huh? She doesn’t speak French so don’t talk to her, is that it?” Dale took to pacing, shaking off the comforting arm of Françoise. “You arrogant, self-centered … hmmmpt vprrrttt…” A swift hand covered her mouth before anything more was said.
“Watch what you say, Dale. Remember, I am also French,” Françoise murmured with a touch of anger. “We have been taught not to trust the English.”
“I am not English, I am American.”
“For them it is all the same, chérie. We speak French, you do not. That makes you different.” Françoise pulled Dale into a strong embrace and whispered into her ear, “… but not to me. You are my life, little one.” She could feel the smaller woman relax at the words. She spoke a little louder, “He knows now and I am sure he will make every effort to engage you in conversation. Am I right, Alain?” Blue eyes narrowed threateningly at the young man.
“Of course, madame.”
“What is going on?” Lucette didn’t like being left out of the conversation.
“My wife is upset that none of you have shown any effort to talk to her.”
“Why bother?” Rosalie spoke up. “She cannot understand us.”
“Exactly. What I said to Alain is between us. Now you know how she feels.” She slyly smiled. “Of course, if we land in America you will know that feeling more. I would suggest that you get my wife to teach you some English. You may need it.”
“I thought we were going to St. Domingue?”
“The Captain is gone, tantine. He could read the maps and the stars. We have no way to guide the ship there.”
“We should have stayed at Nantes…” Honorine mumbled.
“Maybe you should have!” Françoise had had enough. “You ungrateful…”
“They would not have killed us,” Lucette added.
“Of course they would. To them you are just someone in the way of their enemy. You would have died on those docks, tantine.” Françoise took a shaky breath. “I could not let that happen. Not after…”
“Maybe… maybe you are right. We will never know.” The older woman took Françoise’s hand and patted it. “This ship will be returning to France, will it not?”
“Eventually. You want to return to that?”
“It is all I know, little one.”
“Have you ever thought that what we are traveling towards may be better?” Her eyes traveled to the blacksmith standing by the wall. “A chance to start anew?”
Lucette knew where Françoise’s eyes were. She looked over her shoulder to smile at the gentle giant. An affectionate smile was bestowed on her and her heart fluttered. “It is worth thinking about, little one.”
“So now what happens?” Dale was feeling more than frustrated as the conversation she was never privy to continued.
“I am meeting with Rumkey once the ship has been secured. It seems he wants me to help him make some decisions.”
“Ahhh, I see. Captain Françoise.”
“Stop that. I am not the Captain.”
“We’ll see…”
“Daallleeeee…..”
The rocking of the vessel had died down to a gentle sway. She looked at the others. “It is probably safe to go up on deck if you wish. I will need this room for a meeting.” She shot Dale a wicked glance as the smaller woman chuckled. One by one they left. “Alain. Un instant, s'il vous plaît.”
As the cook left, she mumbled, “Nothing but trouble…”
“Honorine! If you think you can do a better job then do it. Otherwise, keep your remarks to yourself. In the meantime, I think we need a hot meal. I want you to find the cook and the two of you work together to make something edible. Do you understand me?”
Aged eyes glared at her momentarily before a brisk dip of the head gave her agreement.
“And Honorine? Enough for everyone, slaves included.”
“But… but…”
“Non. Just do it.”
“What about me?” Dale had a feeling she was going to be left out… again.
“You can stay if you want chérie, but everything will be in French. Sorry.” Françoise knew she had said the wrong thing. The crestfallen face was nearly her undoing. “I am sure they could use someone with a cool head up on the deck…”
“If they could understand me…,” Dale mumbled.
“Chérie, if you can make stubborn old me understand, what are a few salty sailors and a bunch of slaves, eh?”
“It’s not the same…”
“Non, but my heart will break if you are sitting here with that look on your face while we are talking. Do not make me sad, little one.” A knock at the door broke the mood.
“Damn… you don’t play fair.”
“I know.” The French woman looked to the ceiling. “Perhaps I can make your fantasy come true…”
“Now you’ve put it in my head. I hate you,” she whispered conspirationally. As she passed the two men entering, she murmured, “Messieurs…”
“Madame…” came the dual reply.
“Messieurs…” Françoise addressed the assembled group. “I have asked Monsieur Barbineau to stay as a representative of his father’s stake in this venture. We have a problem. Rumkey?”
“Aye. The Captain was swept overboard at the height of the storm. We have no one to plot our course.”
“We have you…” Alain jumped in.
“As I had said to Madame Françoise here, I can sail a ship but I cannot steer it in the direction we want to go. I have no knowledge of maps or such.”
“I have…,” Alain murmured.
“Well then, our problem is solved.” Françoise breathed a sigh of relief. She may not have to be the Captain after all.
“Well…”
Her freedom suddenly disappeared.
“When I was in England my father made sure I studied these things but I have never used them before.”
“You will use them now, Monsieur Barbineau,” Françoise said with finality. “We must all work together if we are to reach land safely.”
“Monsieur Rumkey, how many people were lost?”
“The Captain and two of the crew.”
“And Badoo? What about your people?”
“Some. I cannot count.”
“Alright. Here is what I propose. Badoo, are there any of your men prepared to become crew for this journey? If they can help, it will increase our chances of survival. Please direct them to Monsieur Rumkey. You will need to stay to translate.”
“Rumkey, have the men clean out the slaves’ quarters tomorrow. Scrub them clean. Cut another hole in the deck if you have to to get rid of that smell. The Captain allowed this to happen and it has led to the loss of human life.”
“The slaves?”
“The slaves? They are human beings, Rumkey.” She could see the look of surprise. “I know, monsieur, it was the last thing you expected from me but a certain young woman showed me the error of my ways.” She looked over to see the dark man nod with approval. “They will have the… errr… what you say Rumkey? Below the deck?”
“The ‘hold’, madame.”
“They can sleep in the hold. Move what cargo you can onto the platform once it has been cleaned. They will be allowed free access to the deck.”
“Badoo, you must ensure that there is no trouble, you understand me? It is for all our own safety that there is order.”
“I will do what I can, madame.”
“No! You must do. Otherwise we will all be doomed.” The seriousness in her voice pressed home the message. “Have your people on deck in the morning. They will be allowed to wash. Any injuries will be taken care of then. In the meantime, I have arranged for some hot food to be available tonight… to everyone.”
“Thank you, Badoo. You are dismissed. Tell your people what is going on. Can you please send my wife in?”
Three sets of eyes watched the nearly invisible man leave the dimly lit cabin.
“We cannot let them into the hold, Françoise.”
“And why not?”
“It is… my father’s business.”
“It is now our business, Monsieur Barbineau. What is going on?” The young man bit down on his tongue. “You listen to me. Your father hired that son of a bitch…” She smiled. Dale would be proud. “… and now we are having to deal with that. What is down there that you do not want us to see?”
Alain looked to the leather face of the sailor for support but got none. “Come on lad, tell the… Captain.” He grinned at the shocked expression on the young Frenchman.
“Captain? When?”
“Since no one else wanted the position, young pup.”
“But you are the First Mate, Rumkey.”
“I am a sailor, Monsieur Barbineau, not a captain. I do not have the stomach to make such decisions.” His dark eyes shifted to the brooding young woman. “She has.” He looked into disbelieving eyes. “Oui, madame. You are a natural born leader… even if you are a woman.” The quiet snickering drew an angry glare. “Ignore him, Captain. He is but a boy.”
“He is not much younger than I am, Rumkey.”
“In age perhaps, madame, but I think you have much to tell.”
“And what do I know about sailing a ship, Rumkey?”
“How can I answer that Captain without ending up in chains?” He smiled gently. “Alain here will plot the course. I will do what I do best.”
“And that is?”
“Handling the crew, Captain. I am a First Mate and will probably be a First Mate until the day I die.”
“And me?”
“You, Captain, will make all the decisions that will stop us all killing each other.”
“Do you really think your crew will take orders from a woman?”
“No, but that is why I am here. To knock a few heads together.”
“You do that and we will have no crew.”
“Now, back to business. What are you hiding Alain? What is so important that you will not share it with us?”
“There are some… things down in the hold I am escorting to St. Domingue for my father.”
“If you still refuse to tell us, we cannot help you if the crew becomes curious.” Françoise’s words had a hint of a threat. “Of course, we could just leave it where it is and the slaves can use it as they wish…”
“No! I was told to keep it secret.”
“You have done that. Now that time has passed.”
“The problem is I do not know what is in the chests. I was told to ensure that it reached the colonies. That is all.” Alain had been disappointed that his father had not confided in him, but he knew what it was. His father did not raise a stupid son.
“Well, if a chest or two happens to break open when they are moved tomorrow, do not come to me.”
“You would not dare!”
“No, of course not, but accidents happen, do they not, Rumkey?”
“They certainly do, Cap’n.” His aged teeth appeared as he grinned.
“Will you stop calling me that!”
“Whether you like it or not Françoise there is no one else. You are the obvious choice.”
She sighed, planting her hands on the table and bowing her head. “Then it seems I have no say in this, Rumkey.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Come in, Dale!”
Much to the dismay of the other two present the door opened and in walked the woman in question. “How did you know?” Françoise just smiled and touched her nose.
“You rang?”
“I did not ring anything, chérie. Why do you say such things?”
“When will I learn…?” She clicked her tongue. “Badoo indicated you wanted to see me?”
“See, Alain? She is not an imbecile. My wife is very resourceful.” She turned her attention to the blonde. “How goes it on the deck?”
“Some of the slaves are missing. Since no one seems to know how many were aboard to start with I could only guess.”
“Rumkey. Do you have any idea how many slaves the captain had on board?”
“Not exactly, Cap’n. Perhaps fifty or so.”
“Around fifty, chérie.”
“I counted twenty-eight. We have lost ten to sickness so I guess we have lost about twelve to fifteen slaves, including the young mother and her son.”
“That is so sad. Just as she is free of him…”
“Yeah.”
“Is something wrong, Captain?”
“The young woman and her child are among the missing, Rumkey. A sad thing.”
“Indeed. Rumor has it that the Cap’n had bought her for himself. The child would have been kept alive to ensure her cooperation.”
“He what…???”
“Her skin color would have made it difficult for him to sell her at St. Domingue.”
“Then why buy her?”
The wily old sailor’s eyes shifted to Dale, silently indicating the message he wanted to give. “I think he felt the temptation, Cap’n.”
“If he was not already in the hands of the Devil, I would kill him myself.”
“What’s going on? Whatever it is it doesn’t look good.”
“The Captain had bought… what was her name…?”
“Salooma.”
“Salooma was bought for his comfort, chérie. She was his slave.”
“That bastard…”
Françoise approached Dale carefully, running her hands up and down her partner’s arms soothingly. “She is in a better place now, mon amour. Her suffering is over.”
“She should never have been here in the first place!”
“I know…,” Françoise kept her voice low and gentle, “…I know. But we all have to accept the cards we have been dealt.” Shadowed eyes looked deep into fields of green. “Even the child.”
Dale sighed deeply. “So now what?”
“Now? Now we try to get to the colonies. St. Domingue or America… whatever land we can find. We will worry about where after that.” She leaned in close. “I have something for you to do tomorrow, s'il te plaît.”
“Sure. What do you have in mind?”
“First, check what food and water we have. Is there enough left for the journey? Hopefully Alain here can find out where we are by then. Second, the slaves are to bathe in the morning. Will you organize the herbs for any infections?” The woman nodded, lifting Françoise’s spirits. She pulled her into an affectionate hug. “Thank you, chérie.” She was about to address Alain when she remembered what she wanted to ask. “Did you see any charts or maps?”
“Sure. I put them in the chest. Hang on…” Dale’s hand went down her bodice, forcing Françoise to step in front of her to stop the young man ogling her wife. “Damn it!” Her hand delved deeper into the bodice as the key remained elusive.
“Do you need some help, chérie?” Mirth touched the French woman’s words.
“May I…?” Alain was quick to jump to the young woman’s rescue, only to back away quickly at the venomous glare of the Captain. A quiet chuckle from Rumkey brought a faint blush to Alain’s cheeks.
“Hurry up…” Françoise’s voice was tinged with urgency. She was relieved when the hand returned with the key. “Thank you. You may like to find somewhere else to hide that, Dale.”
“I was in a hurry, alright? What are you complaining about? I didn’t lose it.”
“True, but I would prefer that it was just you and I in this room when you do that.” She retrieved the maps and instruments from the trunk, laying them out on the table for all to view. “Alain, do your best to find out where we are.” She looked up into uncertain eyes. “Alain! You have to do this. No one else can. Do you understand?” His unruly mop of dark hair stirred with the nod. Françoise pushed over the instruments to the young man’s keeping.
“Rumkey. For the moment we stay on our present course. We have no choice until Alain has finished his work.” She looked around the assembled faces. “Now I think we deserve some dinner.”
* * *