FicWad

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I sat at the table and looked at the pipe, lock of hair, cameo and keepsake box. Taking them out individually, turning them over in my hands, I imagined their significance. The pipe surely had belonged to his father, broach and little box effects of his mothers. What of the hair? A first love? Surely not in this intimate family shrine of sorts.

After replacing the items, I removed the twin stacks of letters and carried them to the bed. The string holding them came undone from its simple knot with relative ease. Though I somehow expected it, I checked and found the bundles in order by date. All written to James, they began with one from his father in 1712, telling of his meeting and making fast friends with a Leonardo Romberti, an Italian merchant who had recently purchased an island in the Caribbean. As I read, an eerie sensation mixed with the feelings of obvious love that shone through in the words. I recalled James telling me the family friend his parents and brother were traveling to see when they died, had deeded him this island.

The next three letters had come from his mother’s hand. One written to him as he stayed in an Algonquin encampment with Walks Softly establishing trade agreements, a second during her visit to a friend in Virginia. She, Anna, I learned from a quote in a passage imparting a conversation during her stay, worried about the growing dangers to ships at sea. Such prophecy caused the hair of my nape to prickle. The third missive, sent hard upon the heels of the previous, expressed her wish that they cease sea trade altogether and act as agents to others who continued.

I glanced about at the correspondences. Even with the second stack, this surely did not represent the bulk of the communications in a family who often went to sea. Logic clearly indicated those I had already read contained something to do with how they died. A form of self-flagellation? Or tinder to feed the flames of vengeance?

In the second batch, I found three from Henry penned between 1714 and 1716. The latter date made me calculate and come to the conclusion it might have been the last before his death. In the impatient hand of a young boy, Henry railed against the injustice of their parents treating him as a child, and of his desire to travel with James and Walks Softly to the Algonquin encampments. The next letter made me smile and suffer the sting of tears at once. Detailing the diligent practices he made with pistols and blade, the letter clearly represented Henry’s attempt to sway James into advocacy in the argument from the previous missive. My blood chilled as I read the last of the trilogy. Only a few passages long, it was an emotional appeal to James to speak on his behalf and then take him along on the next trip. Henry wrote that he had no wish to sail with their parents to see Signore Romberti.

If James had done as his brother asked, the boy would have lived. For a moment I thought beyond that. The picture painted in the letters depicted a close-knit, hard-working family who loved each other deeply. I went back and reread the ways letters opened and closed.

James, my son;
Your loving Father

My Dearest James;
You are in my heart always, Mother

Dear James,
Love, your brother, Henry

Recent experiences aside, I’d never known familial affection before Walks Softly. Christopher had treated me as a pet, my mother an obligation, and my father a commodity. Carefully, I refolded and tied the precious correspondences into packets as I found them and returned them to the drawer.

I descended the stairs, crossing the parlor and saw James through a window. He stood out on the beach. My heart skipped several beats seeing him out there, shirtless, proud, and in his heart wounded.

Or poisoned, as Walks Softly believed.

I had far more questions than answers.

Fetching my boots from beside the back door, I went through the house and out the front. I set them upon the shaded porch and stepped down and into the sun. Going to his side, I took his hand into mine.

“Did you find what you sought?”

I weighed my options and decided subterfuge would only cloud already murky waters. “Is that all you have of them?”

“No. A friend in Savannah stored the rest or me.”

His voice gave nothing away, nor did his expression as I studied his profile. “The lock of hair?”

His head lowered for a moment, then lifted and he stared over the surf. “My brother’s. I was at sea when he had his first haircut. Mother saved it for me.”

I did not know James’ exact age, though I put him perhaps a year or two over thirty. It seemed his parents had loosened his leash at a young age, while keeping a far tighter one on Henry years later.

“Do you keep those letters to punish yourself?”

He inhaled deeply. “No. To remind me how every day, the choices we make decide our future.”

“I’ve come to see that myself.”

He turned his head to gaze down at me. “What of your choices today? Baiting me with a falsehood? Holding a blade to my throat?”

“Oh yes, quite key.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Letting you assume the worst, then revealing the truth will help insure the next time you’re inclined to leap to unsavory conclusions, you shall stop and recall this day.”

His gaze dipped to my mouth, then returned to mine. “The blade?”

“That cleared up an important matter between us,” I replied. “The fact that while you are the only one with a cock, you can still get pricked.”

He smiled, genuine and wide. Teeth white and strong, long dimples framing his mouth. My belly fluttered wildly. “An interesting time for that lesson.”

“Yes.” I thought there might be unacknowledged method to my goading his temper. It seemed to draw the poison from him a measure at a time. “Shall I fetch your shirt?”

“Leave it. I’ll have to send someone to change the linens. They can bring it.” As if drawn by something, his gaze dropped. “Lili. Barefoot again?”

“I have my boots with me,” I defended.

“All this wasted while I have worn mine rather than carried them.”



That night after dinner, we soaked together in the tub, sharing brandy from the same snifter. I leaned back against him, drowsy from the meal and day’s exertions. My arms draped along the tub’s rim. James ran his hand down my right one, then my left.

He shifted himself enough to catch my hand, then turned it palm up and said, “You’ve been learning to fight.”

“Walks Softly told you?”

“No, I can see the change already.”

I suffered a stab of feminine alarm, thinking he’d no longer find me attractive, or that he would disapprove. Gathering myself, I responded, “Etienne has worked me very hard. Walks Softly is teaching me about fighting without a weapon.”

“I wager you’re doing well.”

His statement intrigued me enough to sit up a bit from my comfy recline, and look back at him over my shoulder. “Why?”

“You have the build for it. Long limbs, your shoulders are broader than most females', so you will have more reach and power. Most importantly, you have grit, Lili. That cannot be taught by the best of tutors.”

His approval and praise became unbearably dear to me, I realized with some discomfort. “Will you teach me to use pistols?”

He chuckled, took the brandy from me and sipped. Shaking his head a bit, he countered, “You’ve two men quite selflessly ready to defend you to the last, and a third very selfishly willing to fight the Devil himself to keep you in his bed. Yet, you feel the need for further protection?”

“Will you?” I persisted.

He studied me. “If you wish it.”

“I do.“ I decided if I sat here much longer I would fall asleep. “I think I shall get out.”

“I’ll not be long.”

I rose from the tub, stepped over the rim and took a large drying cloth from the table beside. Wrapping it around me, I left the bathing chamber and went into my old room. There I went about my nightly rituals and pulled on a short nightrail.

Eza had turned back the bed in James’ chamber hours ago. I walked to it, heavy with fatigue. The sheets smelled faintly of ambergris. I stretched out upon my stomach and I rubbed my nose into the pillow. Some time later I roused slightly as his large warm body settled next to mine. His big hand splayed over my back and he kneaded away the tension yet lurking there.

I slipped back into slumber, hearing my own sighs.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I heard James rise very early. After a few moments, I began to feel a restlessness I could not trace in source to myself. I washed in a basin, went to dress. The armoire from my previous accommodations had experienced an exodus into James’ room. I could dress myself with the new undergarments, just could not braid my hair. I could only brush it out and leave it loose, and even that still proved a chore.

I smiled when I opened the armoire. Three pairs of breeches, two more modified corsets, shortened pantilettes and a belt like Etienne and James wore waited for me. Delighted, momentarily distracted, I donned bottle green breeches and a tan shirt. In deference to James’ worries over my bare feet, I wore my boots.

As soon as I stepped out into the hall, I knew something amiss. I had not summoned Eza due to the earliness of the hour. Yet, I could hear movement below that seemed more industrious than midday. I descended quickly, and heard familiar male voices coming from the dining room. As I opened the door, Walks Softly said, “I have never known this sense of yours to err.”

He, Etienne and James turned their heads to look at me. They had half-risen from their chairs before I waved the gesture away. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing for you to worry over,” James replied, standing and pulling out my chair despite.

I glanced about the end of the table to each man in turn. “If it has you three in discussion at this hour, I believe it a cause for worry.” I sat and let James push in my chair. He returned to his place.

Walks Softly said, “The captain has a certain talent for anticipating trouble.”

I recalled the many times he’d headed off my mischief, or at the very least recognized it. Turning my attention to James, I asked, “What trouble do you anticipate?”

“I wish I could name it.” That errant lock hung forward this morning unchecked. With his hair down, it didn’t seem to bother him.

“What shall we do?”

The ’we’ made James turn his head and fix me with a slightly quizzical expression. “We double check our defenses and hope I am mistaken.”

Etienne and Walks Softly left for the harbor to oversee the turning of the ships at moor. Turning the vessels slightly by attaching ropes and hauling them the desired direction was a defense unique to El Pantera. At an angle, they presented a smaller target during a sneak attack, and yet ready for moving back and returning cannon fire.

James and I rode into the village. He called a meeting on the common and the speed with which the residents assembled surprised me. They circled the common. James hopped onto an upended barrel rolled into the square for this very purpose.

I waited on the outside of the murmuring crowd, sitting on the gelding, holding Venganza’s leathers. James held up one hand. Silence fell on the crowd. Only the shouts of the teams turning the ships and sea kites cries remained. The stallion’s ears perked and he whickered softly at the sound of his master’s voice.

“Any time a vessel uses our harbor,” he began, “there’s a chance a British or French ship might see them, wax curious and come nosing like a hound. Our homes are here. Your children. So we cannot become complacent in our defenses.” He sounded cool and calm. The people responded by nodding. Ripples of agreement briefly broke the quiet. I found myself caught up in the power of his influential spell. James’ self-possession gave him great power. “I want to you to make plans with your families. Make certain your children know in the worst case, Mr. Levit or Walks Softly will have the harbor cannons hale our good neighbor, Monsieur Armand so he will know to send his sloop seeking the young. The siege tunnel beneath the villa has four solid steel doors with forged hinges a smithy would have to dismantle. Be sure your little ones know to go there and bolt those doors behind. The boats hidden on the other side of the island will bear them out to await Monsieur Armand.” His eyes swept the assembly. “If any family has an ill member, please send them to the villa at once, as a precaution. Mothers, feel free to bring your other children if one is not well. The house maids make preparations as I speak. Let us all do our part, and hope Gamboa has departed unnoticed.”

It required some time for him to see his way clear of the gathering. It seemed most everyone, man or woman wished to speak with him. He looked them in the eye, listening, replying. With perfect patience he made himself available. My admiration grew and I knew I could learn much from him about leadership.

Finally, he finished. The people dispersed and he came to take his horse’s reins and mount. “I must oversee the grain stores moved.” He paused. “This will be demanding work.”

“I welcome it.”

He turned Venganza. “Very well.”



Ominous clouds, gloomy gray against an oddly white sky, formed late afternoon. By the time James and I rode back to the harbor, it had grown quite dark. He spoke with Etienne and his own trusted quartermaster, Mr. Levit. Thunder began to rumble so loudly I fancied the ground shook under my mount. Fatigue weighed my limbs. I longed for a bath and a meal, for I’d eaten nothing since very early. James had offered to send someone to fetch a repast. But as I had watched the men labor without food or rest, I could not accept the concession to my gender.

Finally, he mounted Venganza and we rode for the villa. Halfway up the crushed shell drive, the sky opened and rain poured. Lightning flashed. We urged our mounts to make haste. Those lovely stable boys raced out to take the horses. James dismounted, pulled me down, caught my hand and we ran to the front door.

Inside Eza and a second maid waited with drying clothes.

“My gratitude. Victuals and bath water,” James said, accepting the cloth. He began stripping off every garment the sensibilities of the servants would allow as not to drip water. I doffed my boots and we went upstairs as a pair.

Oddly, the hot bath made me feel less soaked. Eza had placed a vial of my rose oil near a candle. I rubbed the warmed oil into my skin, then wrapped myself in a light robe. James always lingered longer in the bath. It appealed to his sensualist’s nature. With the young girl’s help, I braided my damp hair. Two kitchen servants brought up our evening meal and laid it in the sitting room that had once served as my boudoir and cell.

They left us, closing the door behind themselves. I turned the key in the lock.

In the sitting room, I poured us each a goblet of red wine. When I heard him finishing, I lifted the covers from our meal. They’d sent a feast: steamed fish and lobster in herbed butter, thinly sliced beef, spicy red rice, corn cakes with bacon, fruit in vanilla-infused cream, pastries filled with lemon curd.

James emerged wearing exotic, fluid pants of a shiny black fabric stitched with red dragons. They rode appealingly low on his narrow hips. “I starve,” he said, coming to seat me.

As we ate, I questioned him about what I had seen during the day. He displayed admirable patience and refilled our goblets.

“These looked delicious.” I reached for a pastry.

“Come have your dessert on my lap.”

That sounded better still. I sat sideways upon him, legs draped over the chair’s arm, his behind my back. He watched me as I nibbled my way through the sweet. His hand smoothed up my leg, under the robe. I licked the lemon from my fingers. His gaze followed with great attention, and I felt him swelling against by bottom. I reached over, ran my damp fingertips over his lips, then leaned close to touch my tongue to them.

He groaned low in his throat, parted for me. I delved inside his mouth, retreated, nipped his lower lip. I caught his jaw in my hands and turned his head to trace my tongue along his jaw. Rubbing my nose a bit in his short, neat beard, I tilted his head back and traced a sinew cord in his neck with my tongue, then my teeth.

James shuddered.

Desire pooled in my pelvis, made my breasts swell, their peaks harden. The hand under my robe urged my thighs to part. I complied and he stroked the seam of my body. Wetness of my passion slicked his fingers. I wanted access to all of him, so I stood, walked into the bedroom.

He followed.

I said, “Lie down.”

I thought he might refuse even this slight domination. Instead he stretched out upon his back across the wide bed. I went to my knees on the mattress beside him. His body was so beautiful it made me ache. I explored him with my mouth, his throat, shoulders, arms, chest and belly. He purred and inhaled hissing breaths by turn. Every sound of pleasure fueled my lust. And, his submission to my lead called forth a tremendous rush of tenderness. I appreciated his uniqueness, his inner strength and potent sexuality.

I touched his erection through the thin, silken fabric and his hips bucked. The heat of him warmed the material. I imagined what that texture must feel like upon him as I ran my palm up and down.

“Mercy, Lili,” he murmured, voice thick with arousal.

I untied the waist of his pants and pulled them down and off. For a moment I studied him with a combination of feminine avarice and curiosity. The differences in our bodies held much fascination for me. I untied the sash of my robe, let it fall off my shoulders, shrugged it away. At once, his hands were upon me, pulling me atop him, urging my lips and hips to join his.

I obliged his mouth, kissing him with everything I felt, tangling my tongue with his in a sizzling mating. Then, breathless and aflame, I said, “I want you behind me again. Like at the cottage.”

In a heartbeat I found myself turned and pushed forward to brace upon my hands. His big hands settled upon my hips, his knees urging mine further apart. He rubbed himself over the wetness of my cleft, eliciting a cascade of licentious sensation. I arched my back as his blunt, wide tip pressed inside me, retreated and returned. Deeper, then withdrawing again.

“God in Heaven, Lili,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

I rocked back against him, sending him to my core. We both moaned. My body clenched around him hungrily. He kept still for a moment, buried deep. A slow, bewitching drag of withdraw, nerve-scintillating return. The erotic rhythm ensnared my senses. Yet, I felt somehow lonely. I wanted to hold him, feel his weight.

“James,” I whispered.

“Yes.”

Libidinous delight made speech difficult. “Might we …” I gasped. “I find I wish to hold you.”

He left my body, rolled me onto my back and slid hard to my quick. I clung to him as he made love to me, my nails surely scoring his back, my trembling legs parted by his hips, and my feet upon the backs of his powerful thighs. I felt so cherished by his generous pleasure-giving. My climax began and I held on for dear life.

He spilled inside me, bending to kiss me, murmuring into my yet-damp hair. “Take all of me.”

My heart was lost.




I woke in a snap, hopping naked from the bed.

“Lili,” James said, tone even and cool. “The herald cannons have sounded. Gamboa returns with trouble behind.”

I blinked. An hours candle revealed it just before the fourth after mid of night. I watched him dress. Then, as he armed himself with accustomed efficiency until he fairly bristled. I erupted into sudden action, going to make swift ablutions, dress in shirt, breeches and boots.

“I want you to remain in the house,” he said.

Facing him, I replied, “My brother is on that ship.” Fear raked me. “My lover and my best friends shall meet the danger menacing Gamboa’s vessel. I will not wait behind.”

He hauled me to him, staring down into my eyes. “I cannot risk you.”

Willing him to feel my resolve, I returned, “Nor I you.”

He swore, fairly crushed me to him. “If I let you go with me, will you swear to go if I send you hence?”

I weighed possibilities. “Yes.”

“Then let us depart.”

The household hummed with incoming children and mothers as we descended. James and I emerged through the front. Somber stable lads waited with Venganza. A third sprinted to the stables and returned with the bridled gelding. James’ gaze raked the bareback mount.

“Walks Softly taught me,” I said, grabbing a handful of mane and hauling myself astride for the first time sans a mounting aid.

The deep-throated rapport of a ship’s gun, followed by two more cut the air.

I summoned my courage and rode into battle beside the Golden Panther.


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