Dammit to hell, neither he nor Balfa owned this lithe schooner, only shares in the 'enterprise'! It wasn't like the old days, back in the last war, when they'd commanded
Jerome Lanxade turned to face his employers, hands clasped in the small of his back, a black-visaged glower of warning on his dark-tanned face. Just for a moment, he fantasised, again, of murdering every last one of them, of just
He let his face soften and crease into a knowing smile.
'The seas are up, the prize ship's motion,' Lanxade told them with what might have seemed to be infinite patience. 'Nothing goes as quickly or smoothly as you wish aboard ship,
His employers dressed the part: jackboots and baggy sailors' slop trousers, colourful shirts under long-tailed and gaudy old-style waist-coats that they wore open; waist sashes crammed with pistols or daggers under the waist-coats; broad satin or velvet baldrics bearing costly short swords or swept-hilt rapiers; wide-brimmed hats adrip with egret plumes… As if they'd tricked themselves out in fanciful garb and beauty spots and face powders for a pre-Revolution costume ball!
'One would wish, though,
Mile Charite de Guilleri lowered her lashes and smirked over the rim of her crystal champagne glass, secretly delighted by their hired man's not-so-secret lust,
'I still say we should just shoot them, make them to 'walk the plank,' or something,' her cousin, Jean-Marie Rancour, spat.
'We've
'But we haven't done marooning yet,' middle brother Hippolyte snickered. 'Just about the only thing we
'Kill or maroon?' Helio, as 'leader,' posed. 'The old buccaneers practiced
'Shoot!' Don Rubio Monaster quickly replied, but he was shouted down by those in favour of marooning their captives. Only Jean sided with him, and that not with a whole heart.
'I cannot shoot even
'Rubio, don't be greedy,' Mile Charite coaxed, sashaying to his side to drape an arm round his shoulders and lay her head next to his, as if cajoling her papa for a new gown. 'We have seen how well you shoot. Those runaway slaves…
The other stalwart young fellows had no problem with that.
'If not,
She blew teasingly at his ear, swept off his overly ornate hat, and tousled his romantically long, dark locks, then gave the embarrassed young fellow a quick and 'sisterly' peck on the cheek… with a tiny flick of her tongue tip to tantalise before almost skipping away from him. 'Ah,
Don Rubio Monaster bashfully grinned, though following her every movement with downcast but lustful eyes; unsure, again, whether he'd been gulled by her… or slyly encouraged.
But for their mutual scheme, Don Rubio might have been shunned by her family. His father had been a grandee Spaniard sent to administrate the territory. Though a true Castilian of noble hidalgo blood never tainted by Moor or Marrano, whose sires had held titles since the Reconquista in the 1400s, his father had been so impoverished that a wilderness post's salary had been welcomed. Spanish overlord or not, his father
Not so smart, though, to avoid taking the field against a Chickasaw uprising up near Natchez, where his noble father had been slain. Since then, the Bergrands had moulded him into more of a Creole than a Don, more a Jacobin than a Royalist after the French Revolution, too.
Spain was old, tired, and bankrupt, with nothing to offer but a corrupt and neglectful governance. The new United States encroaching on their borders were even worse, just
Bewitching Charite's costly Parisian scent lingered on Rubio's shirt collar, and he took a cautious sniff, even as he stood to watch the launch from the prize ship finally be rowed over to the schooner; feet wide-spread to balance, spring-kneed to ride the pitching of the deck as masterfully as he rode the most spirited stallion, with hands in the small of his back in unconscious imitation of their hired man, the daunting, dashing Capt. Lanxade. Chin up and alert, firm-jawed in spite of the swooping jerks and snubs, he would be dizzy and sick if he let himself. He would
Though
Oh, if only he could tell her what agony, and what ecstacy, her too-brief caress and kiss could cause him! How like the Golden Fleece he thought her long chestnut hair, how lambent he deemed her turquoise eyes, how generous her lips and mouth, how bountiful her breasts!