The Pits of Passion

by

Amber Flame

(c) copyright July 2003, Melissa Bowersock

Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright July 2003

New Concepts Publishing

4729 Humphreys Rd.

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

CHAPTER 1

Elizabeth Rosanna Montgomery made a conscious effort to raise her chin and focus her jade-green eyes directly in front of her. Stepping down from her carriage, she mentally gathered her strength, preparing to brave the Iron Boar Tavern to collect the rent. For some reason, even after six months, this was still the chore most demanding of her spirit.

You’re alone now, she told herself, and there’s no one to do it but you. Her parents had died as they had lived, together, in each other’s arms, in a carriage wreck. At their death, Elizabeth had felt part of herself die as well, but she resolved to carry on the might of the Montgomery empire and not give in to the fearful weakness that threatened her.

Just eighteen, Elizabeth was a beauty. Her hair was a curtain of honey, although not as sticky, and framed her smooth-skinned face. Her flawless skin was like creamy alabaster, and her eyes were sparkling jade stones set in the clear face. Whenever she walked through London, people stopped to stare at her beauty and at her temptingly ripe young body. Even now, as she drew breath to brave the Iron Boar, a young lad tripped over a dog as he walked by staring at her.

Elizabeth smoothed her skirt and stepped inside the dark tavern. The smell of alcohol, sweat and stale dirt assailed her nostrils, but she refused to allow that to deter her. She slapped her ever-present riding crop nervously on her skirt. That gave her little security, but the black powder pistol thrust into her garter bolstered her courage. She stepped up to the stained common table and fixed a baleful eye on the man she had come to see.

“The rent is due, sir,” she said. The “sir” was strictly a formality.

“It is, is it?” bellowed the man with a rough laugh. He was a large beefy man, with huge beefy arms and a beefy face. His cheeks shook when he laughed. “So the high and mighty Miss Montgomery would pilfer my few pennies from me, would she?” he asked snidely.

“You may take your Iron Boar and your business elsewhere if it suits you,” she said grimly. “But the rent for this month is due--now.” Elizabeth had begun to sweat and the perspiration trickled down between her breasts. She hoped the man would not notice the darkened bodice of her clinging dress. Almost as if he read her thoughts, his eyes traveled to her rounded breasts, feasting on the sight of them rising and falling with each breath.

Elizabeth turned away, slapping her crop on the table. “If you do not pay your debt, I shall be forced to call the Magistrate in on this matter. Now what will it be, Mr. Hockersmith?”

Beefy Mr. Hockersmith heaved himself up from the table and went back toward the kitchen. “Come here then, and I’ll give you your money.”

Feeling somewhat relieved that she had had no more trouble, she followed. Just then a dark shape caught her eye, and she noticed a man lunging at her from the shadows of the corner.

Just in time, Elizabeth whirled and laid her crop across the man’s face, dodging his clumsy attempt at catching hold of her. Instead, he caught only the sweaty, damp bodice of her gown and with a long rip, tore the front of it away from her heaving breasts. Elizabeth screamed, clutching her trembling nakedness in panic and modesty. The drunken man leered up at her from the floor where he had stumbled, the fabric of her dress in his hand, a welt across his face and lust in his eyes.

“You’re a beauty!” he said, and scrambled across the floor toward her. Elizabeth screamed again, thrashing him with her crop, holding her burning breasts and trying to keep the man from crawling under the hem of her gown.

Suddenly a booted foot appeared and, with a swift kick, tumbled the man over sideways. Elizabeth turned, crop raised, ready to face a new adversary, but she was met by a darkly handsome visage that stared concernedly down at her.

“Are you all right, madam?” he asked. His piercing blue eyes stabbed hers, impaling them so she could not look away.

“Uh, yes, I-I’m all right,” she stammered. Suddenly she remembered her condition and clutched the shreds of her bodice together, feebly trying to cover her young bosom. The motion only served to attract the handsome man’s eyes, and his gaze took in all the charms she could not hide.

“Here,” he said, and he gently placed his coat around her shoulders. It smelled of leather and tobacco and was very large. It reached almost to her knees.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly. She had not expected to be treated so gently or politely. It befuddled her so that she had difficulty finding her tongue.

“Mr. Hockersmith,” the man called loudly, turning toward the kitchen. “Have you the rent money yet, or do you need aid to get it out here?” It was more an ultimatum than a question.

“No, no,” Mr. Hockersmith said quickly. He stepped immediately from the doorway where he had witnessed the entire scene. He had hoped to be forgotten during the ruckus, but now came forward almost eagerly, with a small bag of money. Smiling to the stranger, he held up the pouch. “It’s right here,” he said, and handed it to Elizabeth. Her small delicate hand appeared from the great coat and took the money.

“Now let’s see no more trouble over the rent, eh, Mr. Hockersmith?” the dark man said.

“Oh, no, sir, no trouble at all,” the tavern keeper said quickly. He smiled nervously.

The stranger turned again to Elizabeth and she felt his ice-blue eyes devouring her, eating away her garment down to her very soul, and her heart quickened. She found herself growing very warm, whether from his gaze or his coat she wasn’t sure.

“I should think you’ll have no more trouble here, madam,” he said, and he strode silently out the door.

Elizabeth watched him go, feeling both relief and sorrow that he was gone. Staring after him, she asked quietly, “Who was that dark man?”

“Why, don’t you know?” Mr. Hockersmith asked incredulously. “That was Benjamin Ascott Elliott.”

Elizabeth had vowed upon her parents’ death to carry on the Montgomery name with pride and fortitude. She would continue all enterprises by herself, without interference and without aid from anyone. Therefore, the specter of the strange, handsome man was troublesome to her, for only through his aid had she come unscathed from the Iron Boar. She was grateful for his help, but irritated by the fact that she had required it.

Until six months ago, she had enjoyed being the only daughter of Ellen and Charles Montgomery, the pampered child with the silver spoon in her mouth. She had gloried in her parents’ adoration and wealth, and played teasing games with the serious young men who came to court her. Now, though, she was determined to take the reins of adulthood and ride unscathed through her adversity. She became quieter, more serious and more formal. She had even taken the more formal name Elizabeth, when before she had been content with Bess (or Beth, as Beggar Ely the hair lip called her). Now she considered herself a full-grown woman, capable of handling her own affairs. And this man Elliott was a thorn in the side of her independence.

The day after the encounter at the Iron Boar, Elizabeth called her servant, Trevor, to her and asked him if he knew of this man Elliott. “Why, yes, milady, I know of him. Everyone knows of him.”

Elizabeth chose to ignore the implication. “Do you know where to find him?” she asked.

“Yes, milady. He be down at the shipyards most likely. He be a shipping tycoon.”

Elizabeth’s first impulse was to toss the loaned jacket to Trevor and have him return it, but when she picked up the garment, it clung to her hand like it had a will of its own. She couldn’t seem to undo her grasp on the manly-smelling thing, and so, becoming prideful, she ordered Trevor to bring the carriage about. She would return the coat herself.

Trevor guided the matched pair of dapple-grays expertly through the London traffic to the shipyards. Elizabeth sat arrogantly in the coach, unmindful of the beggars and dirty children and fathers shoveling sheep dip at the shipyards. She was concentrating all her energies on getting the jacket unstuck from her hand.

By the time Trevor stopped the grays, Elizabeth was ready. She climbed down from her carriage and cast about for the sight of the strangely handsome man. All she saw were grimy, smelly seamen, none of whom looked familiar. Plucking up her skirts and her courage, she began to walk along the docks, going from ship to ship in her search. Trevor sat up on the carriage bench and fell asleep.

Elizabeth searched the face of every man she saw, and she saw every one on the docks; they stumbled over themselves to get a glimpse of her, one man so struck by her beauty that he fell into the water and drowned before anyone noticed he was missing.

Elizabeth tried desperately to ignore the stares and catcalls that followed her, but the men grew bold. Three of them confronted her, their eyes roaming her body crudely, their tongues hanging out of their mouths.

“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” one asked his cohorts.

“Aye, she be a beauty,” another agreed. “But she be all covered up and you can’t see all of her.”

“We’ll fix that,” the first one said, and lunged for Elizabeth’s lace-covered throat. She twisted, whirling away from his grasp, but his fingers caught on the lace and tore a swathe down the front of her gown. Clutching her burning breasts, she raised her hand to strike the man with her crop, but she only succeeded in blinding the man with a well-placed button.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Elizabeth turned and fled down the dock. Her face flamed with disgrace and tears blinded her as she ran. Suddenly she was brought up short by a very hard, masculine chest.

“Whoa!” a deep voice chuckled above her. She looked up, blinking away the tears and saw the familiar swarthy face.

“Mr. Elliott!” she said. All the plans of independence she’d made dissolved at the touch of his hand on her arm. Forgetting her resolutions, she felt only relief that she had found him in time.

“I was returning your coat, sir,” she explained, “and those men attacked me.”

“My coat?” he asked. He raised a coal black eyebrow and stared down at her expectantly.

“Yes, you know, the one you laid about my shoulders yesterday in the Iron Boar. You do remember me, don’t you?”

“Why, yes, of course,” he said quickly. He appraised her condition with a sweep of his deep blue eyes. “Why don’t you come aboard my ship and we’ll see if we can’t repair the damage. A bit of string or some glue should do it. Come along.”

Placing one hand compassionately on her buttocks and the other on her arm, he led her down a gangplank to a low-riding dark-wooded ship.

“This is your ship?” she asked, wide-eyed. It was a very strange ship, low and narrow and with cannons mounted all along the sides. The flag it flew was completely black.

“Yes, this is the Black Beauty,” he answered proudly. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Hesitantly, Elizabeth allowed him to lead her aboard the ship. There were few crewmen and they all seemed very quiet and watchful. Their eyes seemed to follow her everywhere about the ship until the mysterious Mr. Elliott led her down to his cabin.

“Here are my quarters,” he said with a flourish. The cabin was probably quite roomy as far as cabins go, but it seemed very small and compact to Elizabeth. There were several sea trunks pushed against the walls, a large roll top desk and an even larger wooden-sided bunk. The windows all had black curtains over them and the room was very dark.

“It’s very nice,” she stammered. Elizabeth knew nothing about captain’s quarters, but she supposed it was very nice. While she looked about, Mr. Elliott took the coat from her and tossed it across one of the sea chests. She turned toward him and was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were alone.

“You have the advantage over me,” he said, his eyes traveling over her body. Elizabeth looked confused. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Oh,” she laughed nervously. “It’s Elizabeth Montgomery.” She was beginning to feel very hot and flushed, even allowing for the draft that came in through her torn bodice.

“Well, my dear, “ he said, coming closer. “Let us see how badly your dress was damaged. “ He slipped one arm around her back and then plucked at the shreds of lace Elizabeth tried to hold together. She felt his fingers probing, stroking her tender flesh, and all her blood seemed to rush boiling to her head. She gasped and stared up into those cool, icy eyes, her mouth open to protest, but he silenced her easily with a savage, bruising kiss. His lips were like burning brands on hers, searing her flesh until she could almost smell the smoke. Her blood pounded in her head, and at the same time she realized his blood was pounding somewhere else. Feeling confused and panic-stricken, she tried to wriggle away from his embrace of steel, but her attempts only enflamed him more. Weakly, she tried to push him away, but when she succeeded in managing a two-inch gap between them, her dress crumpled from her shoulders to the floor.

“I’m very good at buttons with my right hand,” he said huskily and pulled her closer again. Her thin chemise was like nothing between them, and she could feel his hard muscles bruising her body. He forced kisses on her face and throat, his hands holding her fast against his assault. One hand moved boldly upward until it caught her ripe young breast, and to her dismay, her breast seemed to thrust itself further into his hand. His other hand roved downward and gripped her taut buttock, and her buttock seemed to mold itself to his grasp. Elizabeth felt as if her body were betraying her. Even her feet wouldn’t do what she told them to. Her mind screamed out in protest against this man taking such liberties, but her body responded shamelessly. Trembling and helpless, she stood trapped as he quickly shed his own clothes and slipped her chemise from her fevered body.

“Oh, my God!” she breathed weakly. She had never seen a naked man before, and the sight shocked her. She hurriedly cast her eyes downward, safely down to where she could only see his feet and trim ankles. Involuntarily, her gaze lifted, to his alabaster thighs and his . . . .

Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. She protested feebly but found that all her struggles were in vain. He moved over her, claiming her body with his, driving his claim stake into her where no one ever had before. She felt the pain, felt it tearing her, ripping her body, and she struggled anew, but this only increased his passion until he was taking her wildly, like an animal aroused.

“Sheee-itt,” he said suddenly and shuddered above her. Then he laid still, his mouth pressed against her throat, his hands cradling her ripe young hiney. His breath was like a hot flame that tickled her flesh, and she felt new shame and indignation over what had happened.

“Let me go!” she screamed and began to pummel him with her small fists. “You animal! You rapist! You anti-social deviant! Let me go!”

“Gad, but you’re beautiful when you’re angry, “he said. “I ought to just . . ..”

“Let me go!” she wailed. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve robbed me of the only thing that was mine alone to give? That you’ve stolen the one treasure I held in sacred trust for my husband? That you’ve degraded and humiliated me beyond measure? That you--”

“Enough!” he said suddenly. His steely blue eyes roamed her body, still flushed with passion, taking in all the hills and valleys she could no longer hide. His gaze swept her, caressing her silken skin, then looking back into her eyes as if he’d just remembered there was a head attached.

“You cannot blame me, madam, for tasting the fruits you so blatantly possess. There is no man who could see you and then willingly turn away. Call me what you like, but I have done what any man would do in the face of your beauty.”

“And you’ll pay dearly for it,” she snarled at him. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done. I’ll see to that.”

“Shall I give back all the kisses I’ve stolen?” he asked, laughing. “Here’s one,” and he kissed her, “here’s two . . ..”

“Stop it!” she demanded.

“Very well,” he said. “I can take a hint.” He got up and donned his dark pants and crisp shirt, watching Elizabeth all the while. She got up gingerly from the bed.

“Why do the women always have to lay in the wet spot?” she asked no one in particular. She found her chemise and pulled it on, then squirmed into her torn gown. “Will you button me, please?” she asked haughtily.

Elliott moved behind her and began to button the tiny buttons. While he did, one hand strayed across the expanse of bare skin still exposed. Elizabeth shuddered, unwilling to admit how his touch excited her.

“Done,” he said finally, and she moved quickly away from him. “I don’t suppose 1 could persuade you to stay?” he asked lightly.

“Not hardly.” she sniffed. “But you haven’t seen the last of me.”

“I certainly hope not,” he said meaningfully. He came to her side and took her arm. “Allow me to escort you out.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather do it myself, “ she said coolly, and walked arrogantly ahead of him. Out in the fresh air again, the bright sun blinded her momentarily. She stopped on deck to let her eyes become used to it, but Mr. Elliott bumped into her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “The bright sun blinded me momentarily.” Fully recovered now, Elizabeth picked up her skirts and made her way back to her waiting carriage. She felt Elliott’s eyes on her as she walked, and they seemed to bore holes into her. Feeling angry and abused, she slashed at Trevor with her crop to wake him up and ordered him to drive her home.

At home, Elizabeth came brutally to terms with her condition. She felt threatened on every side, felt her independence and willful freedom crumbling all about her. In two days this man had destroyed all the security she had, except for her finances. That thought cheered her. She still had her father’s fortune behind her, although when she realized the rest of her life was a sham, it was a hollow victory.

She would have revenge, she decided. She would make him pay the piper now that he had danced on her virtue. Planning her actions carefully, she resolved to go to the Magistrate the next day.

Chapter 2

Elizabeth told the Magistrate her story, pacing, fuming and becoming angrier all the time. The Magistrate listened patiently, his eyes drifting frequently to the swelling roundness above the neckline of her gown. He was an older man, in his fifties, but not past the age of dreaming. When Elizabeth had finished, she stood expectantly before him, waiting for him to declare himself.

“Well,” the Magistrate said, tearing his eyes away from her tempting bodice. “A very sad story, I’m sure. And especially for one of your station, yes, very sad. Ahem.” He folded his hands into a steeple over his belly, deeply pondering the question before him. “Have you ever seen this trick?” he asked, showing her the people inside the church. Elizabeth glowered at him. “Well, yes, ahem,” he said. “What is it exactly you want me to do?”

“Punish the man!” she exclaimed. “Throw him in the gaol or hang him or make him marry me or something!”

“Ahem, yes I suppose we could hang him by his, uh .....”

Elizabeth gasped, horrified.

“Well, maybe not,” the Magistrate added. “Hm, yes, well, I guess the best course of action would be to arrange a wedding, then. Quick, you know, just in case….” he eyed Elizabeth’s belly. “Well, don’t fret my dear. Tell you what. Return here to my office tomorrow at three and we’ll have the bounder and have him do right by you.

We’ll make him take his medicine, all right.”

With the sentence handed down, Elizabeth felt little comfort. She nodded to the Magistrate slowly, wondering if she had done the right thing. But still, she thought, it was unthinkable to let the rogue get away without punishment. She would teach him to treat her lightly.

He would find out what it was to tamper with the Montgomerys. A plan formulated in her mind. He had ruined her chance to marry anyone of her choice, so she would ruin his. He would find himself no better off with a wife than without. She vowed that once the marriage had been performed, he would not touch her again.

“Tomorrow at three,” Elizabeth agreed. She lifted her chin and turned to go. The Magistrate rushed to open the door for her, standing on his tiptoes so he could get a glimpse down the front of her gown. Elizabeth smiled up at him gratefully and left.

Back in her own mansion, she began to ransack her wardrobe, searching for a gown that would be appropriate for her wedding. She pulled out a green velvet dress with a gathered waist and tiny seed pearls sewn delicately along the sleeves and neckline. The color was a pale sea green and the velvet shimmered when the sun caught it.

Unfortunately, the bodice was ripped, and Elizabeth threw the gown on the floor.

The next one she chose was a blue taffeta, a striking gown that showed off her honey hair to great advantage. The color was magnificent, a brilliant royal blue that seemed to add grace and dignity to her full, ripe figure. But the bodice of this one was also ripped, and Elizabeth threw it on the floor beside the first.

The rest of her wardrobe went much the same way. Before she was done, Elizabeth had a mountain of velvet and brocade and silk heaped on the floor, every gown with some little flaw or bothersome trait that she would not abide. She glared at the pile angrily. Surely she must have something appropriate.

She carefully drew out her mother’s wedding gown. It was an exquisite creation of lace and silk and polyester and Elizabeth held it up to her happily. This was the one. It was high necked and long sleeved, yet clung to her body like a wet rag, showing all the curves and hollows she possessed. This would be the gown to tempt Mr. Elliott sorely, allowing him to know what he had abused, yet puritan enough to deny him that which he beheld. Elizabeth hung the gown up carefully and rang for a servant to come and hang up the rest of her gowns.

She waited for the time of her wedding with trepidation. As much as she wanted to exact revenge on Mr. Elliott, she wondered how the impending marriage would affect her. Could she keep to her vow and stay painfully aloof from him, or would his hands just by one touch drive her to the edge of her control? She hoped she could with-stand the forces she was setting in motion. She thought again of the selfish, inconsiderate way he’d used her and her anger flared anew. The ruthless blackguard! The cowardly rogue! The rotten son-of-a-bitch!

On the wedding day, Elizabeth dressed carefully, aware of the seductive quality she cultivated. She had bathed in scented water, using lilac and lavender salts, with a touch of frankincense and myrrh. Her hair was piled regally on her head, soft tendrils of honey dripping to her shoulders. She looked more desirable than she ever had before. Catching a dove-gray cloak about her, she went downstairs to where Trevor had the carriage waiting.

When they reached the Magistrate’s office, she looked for some sign that Mr. Elliott waited within. When she found none, she stepped cautiously out of the carriage. The seriousness of her deed was beginning to come clear to her, and her heart began to pound beneath the white silk. Striking a pose of quiet arrogance, she walked sedately into the Magistrate’s office. The sight that met her eyes disconcerted her. She closed the door behind her and turned to face three men, each appraising her in their own way.

The Magistrate tried to hide his leering lust behind a look of compassionate understanding. Unfortunately, his compassion extended to the bulge in his pants as well. The second man, the head constable Elizabeth realized, was short and slight and had decidedly double-jointed wrists. He surveyed Elizabeth with a critical, contemptible gaze, but his eyes often wandered back to the countenance of the third man. Mr. Elliott towered far above the other two men, his dark handsome face carved into a redoubtable glare. It made Elizabeth redoubt too. As unwilling as Mr. Elliott appeared, though, he was dressed impeccably in black pants and a stark white shirt and lace cravat. The outfit was simple and only served to accentuate the hard, muscled lines of his body. Suddenly he looked more dangerous than Elizabeth had remembered.

“It would appear, madam, that we have something to straighten out between us.” His tone was level, serious yet mocking.

“Yes, it appears so,” Elizabeth said arrogantly. “I told you that you would pay for what you did to me, and so you shall. You will pay for my virtue with your name.”

“I?” he asked incredulously. “What I did to you? I did nothing but save you from the drunken lust of a worthless peon. I did nothing but hide your shame in my jacket. Which, by the way,” he said meaningfully to the Magistrate, “has not been returned to me.”

“Lies!” Elizabeth shouted. “All lies! He took me by force, using me like a strumpet, and that after I returned his precious coat! I warned you, Mr. Elliott, and now you shall pay for your indiscretion!” She turned her magnificent flashing eyes on the Magistrate. “Please get on with it. I have no desire to stand here arguing with a rogue and a liar.”

Looking somewhat perturbed by the accusations that flew about his chambers, the Magistrate quickly rifled through his bible. He peered cautiously at the gentleman who stood thin-lipped and rock silent, then at the beautifully willful girl and shook his head.

This would be a match, thought he, to knock all of London on its ass.

The ceremony was quick and simple, without the embellishments Elizabeth often dreamed girlish dreams about. At the ending pronouncement, the limp-wristed head constable--Mr. Pramburg was his name--produced a golden band and slipped it on Mr. Elliott’s finger.

“No, no, you fool!” the Magistrate said. “Put it on the girl’s finger!”

“The girl?” Mr. Pramburg asked confusedly. He looked at Elizabeth coolly. “Oh yes.” With his long narrow fingers, he slipped the ring from the man’s hand and put it distastefully into Elizabeth’s palm. He sniffed once as he turned away.

Elizabeth put the ring on her own finger, squeezing the adjustable sides together until it fit perfectly. Then she looked at the man who was now her husband. Her husband! He towered above her, his black brows scowling down at her. Again Elizabeth wondered if she had tempted fate too far.

“Ahem,” the Magistrate said. The couple turned toward him. “I believe it is customary to kiss the newlywed?” He arched his brows hopefully. “May I?”

Elizabeth cast her sea-green eyes down modestly, not protesting, and the Magistrate stepped forward eagerly. Putting his hands about Elizabeth’s tiny waist, he leaned down, his lips aching to cover hers. Just then he glanced upward at the bridegroom and the thunderous look on the other man’s face made him turn aside and plant a fatherly kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek.

“Now me,” Mr. Pramburg said, and stepped up to the newlyweds.

Giving Elizabeth a catty sneer, he jumped up and smacked Benjamin a good one on the mouth.

“Ahem,” said the Magistrate, and Pramburg backed off. Elliott wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and Elizabeth turned back to the Magistrate.

“Thank you,” she said. “You have been most kind and you shall be rewarded. The Montgomerys do not easily forget those who serve them.”

“You mean the Elliotts, don’t you madam?” Benjamin asked coolly. “Mrs. Elliott?”

Elizabeth looked haughtily upon her husband without answering. Instead, she stepped to the door and waited for him to open it for her. When he did, she whirled out of the office in a flurry of petticoats.

Outside Trevor was asleep at the reins and Elizabeth slapped him sharply with her crop to alert him to her needs. She had had a white crop made especially to match her gown. Trevor blinked down at his mistress and awaited her directions.

“Home, Trevor,” she said as she stepped into the carriage. She would have slammed the door behind her, but Benjamin caught it and climbed in beside her. With a lurch, the carriage was off.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Benjamin cocked one eyebrow at her mockingly. “I’m going home with my wife,” he answered cheerfully. “Now that we are married we’ll be sharing everything. Community property and all that.”

“What?” Elizabeth shrieked. “I forced you to marry me to lend a name to the brat I may be carrying and to deny you a desirable marriage as you have denied me. Beyond that, my interest in you stops. Trevor,” she called, tapping her bridal crop on the side of the carriage, “stop so Mr. Elliott can get out.”

Trevor stopped, but Mr. Elliott refused to leave. “Trevor,” he said confidently, “drive on home.” Trevor drove on. Elizabeth fumed in the corner of the carriage, unsure of how to deal with her husband.

“By the way,” Benjamin asked, “where do we live? I have heard of the wealth of the Montgomerys, but I have neglected to notice what holdings they have.”

Elizabeth stared sullenly out the window of the carriage. She vowed to turn an icy shoulder to this brigand that took her troubles so lightly. Benjamin, however, was not going to be put off. He slid across the seat and pressed his wife close against the side of the carriage. She felt the hard strength of his muscled thigh next to hers, and fought to maintain her cool control. She would not allow him to see how he disconcerted her.

“Has anyone ever told you what a beauty you are?” he asked huskily. His mouth was only inches from her cheek, and she could feel his warm breath caressing her skin. She kept her gaze averted deliberately, fearful of turning into his waiting arms. His hard chest excited an even pressure on her side and arm, and she thought she could feel his heart beating against her shoulder. A tingling sensation began in her toes and coursed through her body until her head reeled.

“No,” she moaned beneath her breath. She tried vainly to struggle against the tide of passion that threatened to engulf her. The touch of his body against hers, his breath on her cheek, the almost tangible nearness of him was proving too much for her. She felt his hand on her arm pulling her, turning her toward him.

“No,” she said weakly.

Suddenly the carriage lurched roughly and came to an unsteady halt. Elizabeth seized the moment and leaped from the carriage, not knowing Benjamin was hot on her heels. When she would have bolted the huge oaken door against him, he forced it back open and came on. She flew through the main entry of the mansion, past the puzzled servants, and hurried up the carpeted stairway. Still he came after her. Almost in tears, she threw her bedroom door closed behind her, but Benjamin followed. Once in her virginal chambers, he closed the door and turned the key. Then he focused all his attention on Elizabeth.

“There is nowhere else to go,” he said sardonically. “Since you are my wife, I expect you to start acting like it. It’s the least you can do for this underhanded hoax you have perpetrated.”

“Hoax?” she managed. “This is no hoax. Perhaps you sought to trick me, but now that the tables have been turned, it is you who cry trickery. You have used me as a wife once already, and that against my will, and you will not have the opportunity again.”

“I used you, madam?” He laughed sarcastically. “This is only the second time in my life that I have set eyes upon you, nor have I ever even kissed those cherry red lips, yet you denounce me as a mad ravisher and even accuse me of fostering a child upon you. In truth, Mrs. Elliott, I do not even know your name!”

A red curtain of rage descended over Elizabeth’s eyes. That this lying blackguard should continue to protest his innocence when only just the two of them were together was too much. Did he take her for a fool or a forgetful idiot?

“Aren’t you going to tell me how I have the advantage over you, that I know your name but you know not mine?” Her voice was deadly soft.

“I beg your pardon?” Benjamin asked.

“And tell me again how good you are at buttons with your right hand,” she sneered.

Benjamin’s response was not what she expected. Instead of squirming in the face of his own words or perhaps coming clean of the whole thing, he began to laugh. And he laughed. And he laughed.

“Mr. Elliott!” Elizabeth exploded angrily. “How dare you laugh at me!”

Benjamin had half-sat, half-fallen on the bed and looked up weakly at Elizabeth. He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to wipe away the laughter that still played upon his lips.

“Dear me,” he said. Fully composed now, he prepared to explain to his furious bride. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this,” he began.

“Try telling the truth for a change,” she suggested sourly.

“Yes, well, I guess I could start by saying that I am left-handed.”

Elizabeth’s ire rose again. Benjamin quickly noted the pale rose of her skin turning to an odd magenta color and he held up a hand. His left one.

“Wait! Before you berate me again, hear me out. Again I say, I am left-handed. My twin brother is right-handed.”

The magenta paled to a funny gray color as the full realization struck Elizabeth.

“Holy shit,” she said under her breath. “Do you mean to say that it was your brother that ravaged me?”

“Precisely,” Benjamin said.

“And not knowing, I forced you into marriage when it is your brother who did the foul deed?”

“Yes. It’s always been that way, I’m afraid. He’d go off and do something wild, like throwing rats off London Bridge onto boats passing below, and I’d always get punished for it. He’s a bit of a bounder.”

“Lord have mercy on my soul,” she said quietly. “Mr. Elliott, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for this. I can find no words to apologize for what I’ve done. I—I....” Words failed her. She looked miserably at her husband.

Benjamin came to stand in front of her. She cast her eyes down, unwilling to look at him, but he lifted her chin with a gentle finger. Tears stood in her jade green eyes and threatened to spill down her lovely cheeks. All the anger and hurt were gone from her face, replaced by regret and apology.

Benjamin looked deeply into her eyes, his fingers gently supporting her chin. He felt as if he were holding a very small, fragile bird that would fly at his slightest move. The nearness of her was a torture to him, yet he was fearful of pressing his advantage and perhaps scaring her. Finally he could stand it no longer, and he bent his dark head toward her golden one, his lips covering hers in a gentle caress.

“You’re not angry with me?” she asked a moment later.

“No,” he said. “This is one debt of my brother’s I don’t mind paying.” He circled her with his strong arms and pulled her closer. Although still afraid, Elizabeth allowed herself to accept his attentions, hoping that he did not notice the trembling of her body. His touch was like fire through the thin gown, and she hoped he would not burn any holes in it. His mouth took hers again and again, each time capturing more of her passionate soul.

He pressed molten kisses on the soft skin of her neck until stopped by the lace there. Then, releasing her suddenly, he waited while her gown fell into a heap about her ankles.

“See, I told you I was left-handed, “ he said passionately. Elizabeth quickly found her chemise following her gown to the floor, and she stood naked to Benjamin’s lazy blue eyes. Fear and confusion rose in her, tempered only by a strange pleasant tingling that seemed to fill every part of her body. Not knowing whether to stand or dart away, she was caught off guard when Benjamin cradled her easily in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently on the silken coverlet and quickly shed his own clothes.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, staring at him.

Benjamin looked down. “Oh, yes,” he said absently. “Besides being different handed, my brother and I do have one other dissimilarity. It seems I inherited both his share and my own of the pride of the Elliott’s.” He clucked his tongue. “Perhaps that was why he was always such a juvenile delinquent. Over compensation for an inferiority complex or some such thing, I suppose.”

Easing himself down upon the bed, Benjamin proceeded to ignite Elizabeth’s body with his searing kisses. His hands traveled the expanse of silken skin; fanning the fire in her to a roaring blaze. He caressed her breasts with gentle, sensitive strokes, using his lips and tongue to advantage as well. Elizabeth felt her body arching toward his as if by a will of its own, and she circled his neck with her arms and pulled him on top of her.

She was immediately sorry. The pride of the Elliotts penetrated deep within her and the awful renting agony was almost too much to bear. Feeling as if she were being ripped in half, she cried out and struggled weakly against the incredible onslaught. Unfortunately, Benjamin took her moans to be those of ecstasy, and he drove on, mindful only of the exquisite feelings he was experiencing. He plunged deeper and deeper, until he seemed to explode in a frenzy of passion and then fell spent beside his bride.

Elizabeth had fainted. At first Benjamin thought she was only resting, but when he pressed a soft kiss to her temple she did not awaken. He shook her, then slapped her cheek and her eyes fluttered open.

“Agghh,” she groaned. “I think I’m dying.”

“Oh, you’ll get used to it,” Benjamin said.

“I’ll get used to being torn apart?” she asked. She glanced down to see if she was still whole. “Oh my God, I’m bleeding to death! You’ve wounded me mortally and I’ll die like a stuck pig! Benjamin, do something! Call a doctor!”

“Calm down,” he said easily. “That’s normal, or don’t you know about such things? All women bleed the first time....”

“But this isn’t the first time, it’s the second! Your brother, remember?” She was still horrified.

“Oh, yes, of course. But he hardly counts as the first time. Like I said, he didn’t inherit much in the way of family jewels.”

Now that Elizabeth thought about it, she hadn’t bled the first time. Something nagged at the back of her mind. If he had entered her, but not enough to break the maidenhead, that meant.

“Benjamin!” she said suddenly. “Do you know what this means? If I didn’t bleed that first time, then he didn’t--I mean, I was still....”

“A virgin. Yes, that’s right,” he reasoned. “So actually as far as husband-hunting was concerned, you were still marketable. So our marriage wasn’t really necessary after all.”

“This just hasn’t been my day,” Elizabeth remarked. She sank back on the bed as if exhausted. “I suppose we can have our marriage annulled, though, can’t we?”

“I doubt it. You certainly couldn’t claim non-consummation. And besides, now you really may be with child.”

His calm deliberation annoyed her. There must be some way out of this mess!

She pushed herself away from Benjamin and got off the bed. She desperately wanted a bath, but she wanted Benjamin to leave more. She just wasn’t quite sure how to go about telling her new husband to leave.

“Mr. Elliott,” she began. He raised one eyebrow at her curiously. “Benjamin,” she corrected, “we really cannot live out this charade. We both know this is just a big mistake and neither one of us is bound to the other except by circumstance. I, uh, find myself having to take the precaution of keeping your name, in case, but it really is all a sham. You must realize that.”

“It is rather a strange situation, isn’t it?” Benjamin asked cheerfully. A mocking smile played upon his lips, annoying Elizabeth. It seemed as if the rogue actually enjoyed her predicament.

“Well, it cannot remain this way!” she exclaimed. “I realize it is mostly--” he cocked that eyebrow again “--all right, it’s all my fault, but it cannot go on. It won’t take long before I’ll know whether or not I carry your child, and if I don’t there would be no reason to continue this pretense. Under the circumstances, I am willing to drop any idea of revenge I had for your brother....”

“Considerate of you,” Benjamin noted.

“But really, if he had a decent bone in his body, this never would have happened.”

“I told you he doesn’t have a decent bone, didn’t inherit....”

“Yes, yes, I know. But the point I’m getting at is that we cannot live like man and wife. Don’t you agree?”

“Actually I was becoming rather fond of the idea,” Benjamin mused. “I think it would be nice to have a warm bed to come home to after sailing halfway around the world and back. Beats the hell out of looking up a girl in a pub somewhere....”

“Like the Iron Boar?” she accused.

“ No, more like the Fighting Cock or the Red Dragon. There’s this little bit of fluff over there....”

“Mr. Elliott,” Elizabeth warned. “I will not have you deliberating about your-- your affairs on our wedding day!”

“But you just said it was all a sham and we weren’t to take it seriously.”

“Please don’t argue.” She sniffed. “The fact remains that you cannot live here. In a month’s time we’ll know if there is any need to continue this so-called marriage. In the meantime, I think it would be wise if we each kept to our own interests.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Benjamin conceded. He swung his long, lean legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Elizabeth was struck by the realization that they were carrying on their conversation completely in the nude. Feeling her old modesty again, she turned her back on Benjamin while he dressed.

“I’ll be leaving soon enough anyway,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked, her back still turned.

“Yes, I’m scheduled to pick up a cargo in the Mediterranean and I’ll be leaving before the week is out.”

“Is it true you’re a shipping tycoon?”

“I suppose you could say so. I do have a knack for making money that way, at least. Something in the Elliott blood, I think.”

“Your brother is in the same line of work?” she asked, remembering the strange ship.

“Uh, similar,” he said vaguely.

“What do you mean, ‘similar’? I’ve seen his ship. Does he import also?”

“No, he smuggles actually. Or pirates, or whatever else seems profitable. He’s a bit of an opportunist, I’m afraid, and doesn’t much care which side of the law the opportunity lies on.”

“He is a rogue then, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes, and I doubt if we’ve seen the last of him. He has a peculiar way of popping up at the strangest times.”

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, aware that Benjamin was dressed now. She turned and observed him closely, but she knew she would not be able to tell the brothers apart whenever she was confronted by one.

“What’s your brother’s name?” she asked, realizing she did not know.

“Franklin,” he answered. “And speaking of names, what’s yours? I mean, beside Mrs. Elliott?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Well, Elizabeth, my bride, “ he said, stepping up to her. “I’ll be taking my leave now.” He waited expectantly.

“Oh, yes, well, good-bye,” she stammered.

“Elizabeth,” he said. “That’s no way to leave your adoring husband to go off to sea.” He reached out and caught her shoulders, pulling her to him. She held back, not knowing what he intended, but his strong arms brooked no refusal. Holding her tight against him, he leaned down and kissed her hungrily, his lips soft but insistent. His kiss left Elizabeth gasping, and she wondered if he wanted this kiss to last until he returned. Finally, she managed to draw back.

“Good-bye,” she said.

“Good-bye, Elizabeth,” he murmured softly. His eyes seemed to glow with a strange light. Was he really so unwilling to leave her? With a small grin on his handsome mouth, he was gone.

Elizabeth stood and stared at the closed door for some moments after he’d left. Why were there so many strange feelings fighting inside her? Had the whole world turned upside down? Or was she the only crazy one?

She turned and searched her own image in the full-length mirror. Her body looked the same. She had almost expected to see some mark left on her by Benjamin’s burning hands, but there was nothing except a small hickey on her neck. Pushing all the confusion she felt to the back of her mind, Elizabeth rang for a servant to prepare her bath. As long as he was leaving soon, she had at least some time to puzzle out her life.

CHAPTER 3

Elizabeth did not see her husband again before he sailed. She found out through her maid that his ship left with the morning tide two days after their wedding. She felt strangely sad that he was gone.

Summoning up her Montgomery pride, she kept herself busy. There were accounts to keep and rents to collect that she had neglected during the past stormy days. She arranged all the accounts in London, then decided to pass some time at her country estate in the north. Packing up all her untorn gowns, she gathered Trevor and a few other loyal servants and drove to the country to Wildwood.

Wildwood was probably her most favorite place of all her family’s holdings. It was an old, puzzling place, three stories of leaded windows and garden terraces. The grounds were covered with hedges in undefined trails, latticed paths and riotous jungles of flowers. Elizabeth found she could lose herself for hours in the fascinating gardens, forgetting all her other cares. When she became thoroughly lost, she often had to call for Trevor to help her find her way out, but even that was not enough to dampen her contentment.

It was while she was at Wildwood that she found out she was not pregnant. The knowledge lifted a great worry from her shoulders, and her belly, and she began to plan again. There was no reason now why she could not have the marriage annulled, she thought. The Magistrate was kind enough before to aid her, albeit for a price, but she was not poor and could certainly afford his services again. She vowed to go to him as soon as she returned to London.

Shortly afterwards, her father’s barrister, Mr. Upjohn came to call at Wildwood. Elizabeth had not seen him except a time or two since her parents died, and his visit surprised her. He seemed reluctant to come to the point of his visit, which increased her sense of foreboding.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” Mr. Upjohn said as they sipped tea on the patio. “It was a terrible thing when your parents died.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but my father would be pleased to know that I’m handling things on my own.”

He nodded and seemed to ponder her statement. Elizabeth noted the bald spot on the top of his head and the way his blurry blue eyes avoided hers.

“Mr. Upjohn,” she said finally. “I feel there is something you have come to tell me and 1 would like you to come to the point. I can only assume by your avoidance that it is not good news, but it must be important or you wouldn’t have sought me out here at Wildwood.”

Mr. Upjohn shifted uneasily in his chair and cleared his throat. He swished his tea about in his cup, lifted it as if to drink, then set the whole thing down on the table. Finally, he peered at Elizabeth through his glasses.

“You’re right,” he began. “It is important, and it is disturbing. The fact is that some new, uh, debts have come to light since your parents’ deaths, and I’m afraid it isn’t looking good. You are not going to have as much money as we originally figured.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, much relieved. That didn’t seem so terrible to her. She had so much money and so many holdings that they could take what they liked to pay off the debts and she would still have enough. “Do you have the figures with you, Mr. Upjohn?” she asked.

“Yes, yes I do....” he said nervously. He began to search his jacket, riffling through the pockets. Finally he pulled out an envelope and squinted at the pencil scratches on the flap. “The whole thing is really rather a shock, you know. Completely unforeseen.”

“A shock, Mr. Upjohn?” she repeated. “Why a shock? Anyone with as much business interest as my father had would naturally invest in many varied things. To find that all his ventures were profitable would be more surprising to me.”

Mr. Upjohn squirmed uncomfortably in his chair under Elizabeth’s hard glare. She was surprised and rather disappointed in the way he was carrying on. He was making it very difficult. Plucking up his courage, Mr. Upjohn finally handed Elizabeth the envelope. She scanned it briefly, then looked up at the barrister.

“I don’t understand. What are these figures?”

“The first,” Mr. Upjohn said nervously, “is what your father lost on dog races.”

“Dog races?” Elizabeth asked accusingly. “My father was not a gambler, Mr. Upjohn. That is impossible.” She looked again at the figure and her eyes opened wide. “This much on dog racing?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Like I said, it has taken this long to come to light, but we’ve checked it out and the claim is legitimate. Yes, indeed. Dog racing.”

Elizabeth swallowed. “And this next one?” she asked, pointing to the envelope.

“An impossible venture, I’m afraid. Apparently your father was approached by some fellows with an idea to manufacture beads.”

“Beads?”

“Yes. Seems as though beads are the monetary unit over in the new America, and their plan was to manufacture their own beads and invest heavily in land in America. Unfortunately, the fellows must have been absolute bounders, for they declared bankruptcy and lost all that your father loaned them.”

Elizabeth swallowed heavily. “Go on.”

“That next figure you see is, uh, well, it’s rather delicate.”

“Delicate, Mr. Upjohn? I don’t see that any part of this conversation is delicate. I am becoming impatient. Now what is it?”

“That’s losses on a string of, uh, shall we say, houses of ill-repute?”

“What?” Elizabeth’s shriek of outrage made Mr. Upjohn cower behind his glasses. “Are you implying sir, that my father....”

“Not implying, no,” said Mr. Upjohn quickly. “It’s all in black and white, I can assure you. I know it’s a heavy blow to you, but believe me, it’s true.”

“What sort of losses?” she asked when she had regained her composure.

“Well, really, it’s not a fit subject to discuss.”

“What sort of losses?” she demanded.

Mr. Upjohn fitted a nervous finger in the neck of his shirt. “Well,” he said, “it seems the houses have all, uh, gone out of business. There are these, uh, social diseases that crop up every now and then and what happens is that one, uh, girl gets it and then it spreads until they all have it. Then the house closes. This has happened in all of them, one by one, like dominos. They’ve all closed.”

“All?” she asked weakly. “How many were there?”

“Seven,” he said.

“Seven,” she repeated. Her eyes had begun to glaze over slightly with shock.

“And that’s all the figures,” Mr. Upjohn said finally.

Elizabeth looked dumbly down at the envelope. “What is this last one? It isn’t very much so it must have been a very small debt.”

“That’s not a debt,” the barrister said.

Elizabeth was uncomprehending. “If it’s not a debt, what is it?”

“What’s left.”

“What’s left of what?”

“What’s left of your inheritance.”

She felt faint. “This is all? This is all I have to my name? This won’t even buy a decent gown! Are you mad? I have the mansion in town and Wildwood and all the taverns, the rent.”

“They will all be sold to pay the debts.”

“You’re lying!” she cried. “Get out of here! Take your figures and get out! I don’t want to listen to any more of this! Get out!”

Almost falling over himself, Mr. Upjohn made for the door. Elizabeth didn’t even hear the door open or close, for she had collapsed in tears and sat sobbing her heart out. It was too much, she told herself. She had tried so hard to carry on for her father, but everything had been taken from her little by little. Now she had nothing.

Then she remembered. She had Benjamin! He was her husband and he would take care of her. But along with the memory of her husband came the memory of the way she had told him to leave, to get out of her life until she knew whether she needed him or not. And he was gone. She didn’t know where or for how long even. Feeling depression flooding over her again, she dissolved once more into tears.

Trevor locked the gate of Wildwood and climbed up on the carriage. As he drove the grays away, the country estate shrank behind them, and Elizabeth forced herself not to look back. This was a part of her life that was closed, over. She would look ahead and somehow she would find a way. She had to.

She filled up the trip to London with plans for the future. She did not have many options open to her, but she examined each one carefully.

Now that she had no money to speak of, she would need an income. One way to incur that would be for her to work at a position. But what could she do? Be a maid? A governess? She had no training for such menial jobs, and actually the idea horrified her. How could a Montgomery be a servant to anyone? Just thinking about it made Elizabeth want to cry, but she realized that would only make her eyes red and puffy. If she was going to go begging she at least had better be beautiful while she was doing it.

Her first option cast quickly aside, she began to ponder plan two. If she could find Benjamin and make him think she loved him, he would agree to perpetuate their marriage. After all, he hadn’t been eager to leave her, had he? She remembered the way his cool blue eyes traveled over her naked body, the firm, searing touch of his hands and the insistent way his lips claimed hers. Her face flamed at the memory, and she loosened her gown at her neck to let the steam escape.

Forcing herself to get back to the problem at hand, Elizabeth decided her best course of action was to find Benjamin. She would rather be his wife than be a servant to anyone.

When Trevor pulled up the grays in front of the mansion, Elizabeth thought it looked different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, since her arm wasn’t that long, but something had changed. Stepping down gingerly, she walked up to the front door. She knew the servants would not be expecting her, but she thought it unusual that they were not watching the front anyway. She pushed on the door, but it would not open. She pounded on the latch to no avail. Finally she beat upon the door, desperation rising in her throat like bile.

“Where is everyone?” she cried angrily.

“Gone,” Trevor said.

Elizabeth whirled on him. “I can see that, you idiot. Why is the mansion locked?”

“Gonna be sold to pay the debts,” he answered.

“They can’t do that!” she said to no one in particular. “Everything I own is in there. My gowns, my jewels, everything!”

Trevor chose to sit silently up on his box and let Elizabeth fume. She paced irritably on the front walk, so taken aback by this intrusion in her life that she found it hard to think clearly. Then it came to her--the Magistrate! If anyone would help her, he would. He must be able to stop this seizing of her property without notice, or at least let her gather her own possessions. Feeling somewhat relieved in spite of the atrocities being forced on her, she climbed back in the carriage and ordered Trevor to drive to the Magistrate’s office.

The sight of the familiar office brought back memories of the last time she was there. How long ago it all seemed! Was it really just a week? She stepped down from the carriage and walked proudly in on the Magistrate. She may have been penniless, but she still had her pride.

The Magistrate looked up with confusion and surprise on his face. He was aware of Elizabeth’s predicament, but had hoped to stay clear of her indignation. Much as the comely sight of her set his blood boiling, the determined look on her face boded no pleasantries for him.

“Good day, Miss, uh, Mrs. Elliott,” he faltered. He came around his desk and guided her to a chair. The heady scent of her was enough to keep him by her side, but he admonished himself and took his usual place.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, knowing full well.

“Oh, sir!” Elizabeth said, her resolve crumbling. Before she could prevent it, the tears flooded her eyes and spilled down over her pale cheeks. “They’ve taken my mansion and locked it against me and I cannot even get my own possessions! There are things there that cannot be replaced--my gowns, my family jewels, my riding crops! I must be allowed inside, I must!” Her tirade over, she dissolved in tears.

The Magistrate jumped up and ran around the desk to comfort Elizabeth. He went to pat her reassuringly, but the soft curves of her body made him hesitate. Finally, plucking up his dignity, he slipped a consoling arm around her shoulders and with the other he patted her knee.

“Now, now, Mrs. Elliott,” he said. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” His soft words and patting hands seemed to ease her somewhat. “It will all work out,” he said, although he had no idea how things would work out.

“Then you’ll help me?” she asked, looking up at him pleadingly. Her deep, limpid eyes and heaving breasts seemed to reach out to him, imploring him, beseeching him. He raised one trembling hand toward the swelling roundness that beckoned him, then caught himself and put his hand upon her damp cheek.

“You poor child,” he said, his eyes straining to see past the lace inset of her bodice.

“Oh, I knew I could rely on you!” she said, and collapsed gratefully into his arms. She caught him off guard and he almost fell over, but righted himself and stood up, folding her into his arms. She allowed herself to burrow into his shoulder, crying again but this time from relief. The Magistrate cradled her in his left arm while his right hand patted and soothed her narrow waist comfortably. Then his right hand soothed her side, then her ripe young breast. His left hand trailed down to the gentle swell of her buttocks.

Suddenly the door flew open and Mr. Pramburg strode in. The Magistrate released Elizabeth so suddenly that she almost lost her balance. Mr. Pramburg glared balefully at both of them, a disgusting sneer on his thin lips.

“So the beggar has come begging here, eh?” he asked snidely. The sight of Elizabeth’s flushed face and heaving bosom was obnoxious to him.

“Now see here, Pramburg,” the Magistrate said.

“I am not begging,” Elizabeth cried angrily. “They have locked my own house against me with all my possessions inside! The Magistrate has agreed to help me regain what is rightfully mine.” She lifted her chin arrogantly.

“Ahem,” said the Magistrate nervously.

“Yes,” said Pramburg, not missing a trick, “Tell the young lady how you’re going to help her. Tell her how you can do absolutely nothing for her!”

“What?” Elizabeth asked, looking to the Magistrate. The elder man cringed under her steady gaze. “Can you or can you not help me?” she demanded slowly.

“Uh, well, uh, ahem,” said the Magistrate.

“That translates to mean ‘no’,” said the head constable gleefully.

“I asked you a question, “ Elizabeth pressed. “Can you help me or not?”

“Actually, no. You see it’s all beyond....”

“Yes, I can see that it’s beyond you,” she finished. She drew herself up to her full height and stared levelly at the Magistrate. “Since I shall get no help from you, I’ll have to handle it myself. I won’t trouble you any longer.” She smoothed her skirt and went to the door, passing Mr. Pramburg.

“You, sir,” she said as she paused at the door, “are vile and ill-mannered. How you were ever elevated to this office is a marvel.”

“Be mindful what you say,” the head constable said with a sneer. “Your station is not so high as it was a week ago, and any disturbances will eventually come back to me. Conduct yourself carefully.”

Elizabeth eyed him hostilely for a moment then. Seeing he was expecting her to argue with him, she turned coolly and opened the door. She flipped her honey hair back over her shoulders, flipped Mr. Pramburg the finger and stalked out.

When she was again outside, her anger turned to dismay as she saw that both Trevor and her carriage were gone. She looked fruitlessly up and down the narrow street but the familiar coach was nowhere around. Mr. Pramburg’s doing, no doubt. Stamping her foot in uncontrollable rage, she cast about for what to do. How could this be happening to her? How could she suddenly be left alone like this, with nothing?

She had no course of action except to make her way to the shipyard and see if she could find word of her husband. She had no idea how long a trip to the Mediterranean took, but she hoped not more than a few days.

The walk to the shipyard was torture to Elizabeth. Every time a fine carriage drove by, she stopped and stared as if expecting it to be hers. The glances of the wealthy people within them made her want to scream and tell them, “I didn’t always have to walk! Just this morning I had a luxurious carriage of my own!” But the people drove by, uninterested, uncomprehending her plight. She trudged on.

As she neared the docks, she seemed to notice seaminess in her surroundings. The shops suddenly looked less charming, more forbidding, and the people she met on the street turned curious, lewd eyes upon her. She cringed under their stares, not wanting these denizens of the wrong side of town to even notice her. She heartily wished she were invisible, so she might pass unseen, but the farther she walked, the more noticeable she became.

She had heard stories of robbers and cutpurses, but she had no idea how to spot them, so she hugged her small bag to her breast with both hands. She had very little coin, enough for a meal or two and maybe a night’s lodging, but she knew she might be murdered for less. She glared warningly at the broken-toothed beggars and sharp-eyed children that seemed to press around her. Bedraggled, garish-looking women smirked knowingly at her, and she could hardly keep from staring at the colorful painted faces. All these sights were new to her, and she glanced around in amazement.

When she finally saw the tall ships’ masts at the end of the street, she was so relieved that she ventured to run. Now she did not care if anyone stared at her as long as she could find Benjamin.

But how was she to find him? She had no idea what ships were his, although she was sure they must be splendid. She wanted to ask someone, but she was reminded of her last venture to the shipyards and how defenseless she really was. Not only did she not have her pistol, she didn’t even have her riding crop!

Trying to look courageous although she did not feel it, she began to search the docks. There were not very many splendid ships. Most of them were dirty, smelly affairs, their crews much the same. She was sure Benjamin would not have an unwashed crew.

She went from one dock to the next, searching, looking, but never finding anything that might guide her. All the people that she saw were disgusting, leering seamen, none of whom she cared to talk to. Then, finally, she chanced to see a constable walking about.

“Sir,” she said, smiling gaily with relief, “can you tell me where I might find Captain Elliott?” She managed to forget her many problems and cast her lovely jade-green eyes up at the constable invitingly. Turning toward what he expected to be a shipyard strumpet, the constable was taken aback by the beauty that beamed up at him. He tried to say something but it was difficult with his tongue hanging out.

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” he said finally. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m looking for Captain Elliott. Can you tell me where I might find him?” She batted her sooty black eyelashes at him.

“Oh, Captain Elliott,” he said, brushing the soot from his jacket. “Yes, he ties up down that way.” He pointed to the direction toward which she was working. “Don’t know that he’s there, though. I seem to remember something about him going to the Mediterranean.”

“Yes, I know that, but I must find out if he’s back yet.”

“Then that’s the place to look,” he assured her. “Would you be needing an escort?” he asked hopefully. His eyes followed the thick ropes of her hair down to the swelling curves of her bosom.

“No, thank you,” she said quickly. “Thank you very much, but I can find it myself.” She excused herself with a parting smile and hurried off down the docks.

At the end of the shipyards there were many buildings and Elizabeth soon realized they were warehouses. She found she had to go in between them in order to get close to the ships, but she knew now she was getting closer to Benjamin. Being an importer, he would have to have warehouses in order to unload his goods. Feeling her spirits rise, she rushed on.

Just about that time, she passed through a narrow alley between two warehouses and when she emerged into the bright sunshine, she stopped to allow her eyes to adjust. Before she could take another step, she found herself grabbed by rough hands and a foul-smelling sack was thrown over her while her hands were jerked brutally behind her.

“Got her!” She heard a man’s voice close to her ear. “Tie her up good, lads. The captain will pay a pretty penny for this one.” Elizabeth fought, panic-stricken, but the men were too much for her. She tried to scream, but a rough hand held the sacking against her mouth. She did not know how many there were, but hands seemed to be everywhere. They prodded and fondled her, pushing her this way and that until she thought she would go mad. Then they seemed to settle down to a definite plan, and they worried her along the rough planking she recognized as a dock. What was happening to her, she asked herself. Was she taken to be ravished or murdered or perhaps even to be sold into slavery? Her mind reeled with the possibilities.

Suddenly she stumbled.

“Damn,” one of the kidnappers said.

“Careful of the ramp, lads,” the first voice said. “Get her down gently now. The captain don’t abide damaged merchandise.” Elizabeth felt herself coaxed down an unsteady ramp, one that seemed to rise and fall like a ship. She was fearful of taking too long a step, afraid she would plunge into the murky water and drown before she could free herself of the coarse sacking.

“Come on, lass, you can walk faster than that. We’re almost down.”

With relief, Elizabeth set her foot upon the comparatively steady deck of a ship. Her captors let her find her sea legs, then trundled her off again.

“Where does he want ‘em?” a man asked behind her.

“He said if we found very many to take ‘em to the hold, but with only one, he said his cabin would do. He likes to pick one out to keep him company, anyway. And since we only got one, he’ll have to pick her.”

Elizabeth wondered what it all meant. She was beginning to lose her fight, and instead allowed herself to be propelled along without a struggle. She realized when the warmth of the sun disappeared that she had been taken through a doorway, then led carefully down a narrow night of steps. At the sound of a heavy wooden door opening, she was ushered through another doorway, then pushed unceremoniously onto a bunk. Afraid of what would happen next, she lay still.

“Where’s the captain?” one voice asked.

“He’s rounding up a last minute crew. Some of the swabs jumped ship so he had to shanghai some more.”

“Oh? Then maybe he wouldn’t mind us tasting his little tart for him afore he gets back.”

Elizabeth froze as she heard a chorus of “ayes.”

“Now wait a minute,” the man who seemed to be the leader said. “Captain doesn’t like his goods second hand. If you lay a finger on her, or anything else you might have handy, he’ll keelhaul you for sure. Come on now, before you get yourselves in trouble.”

“But he’ll never know,” one argued. “He don’t know if the ones we bring him are used or not. And we can, uh, persuade the lady not to tell.”

The way he said ‘persuade’ made Elizabeth cringe.

“Yeah,” a third voice agreed. “He won’t know. If we hurry we can all have a turn.

The murmurs of agreement rose and drowned out the one dissident. Heavy steps came across the planking and Elizabeth felt rough hands groping at the sacking, dragging it and her skirts upward. She came to life now, kicking and flailing, and heard one man cry out.

“Well, I don’t think old Georgie will be wanting any for awhile,” someone said, and Elizabeth knew her kick had been good. She struggled more, hearing cloth rip and realizing it was her skirts coming apart under the savage onslaught.

“Hold her, boys!” one man cried, and she felt hot hands upon her thighs. Her legs were forced apart and she steeled herself to what was coming next. She was quickly and silently thankful for Benjamin. After him, this would be easy.

“Hold there!” a deep voice thundered. The hands fell away from her and she felt a curious apprehensive charge fill the room. The only sound was the uneasy shuffling of feet on the floor.

“Captain, I tried to stop them,” said the first man. “I told them you weren’t liking ‘em to mess with your girls, Captain, but they wouldn’t listen.”

There was a strained silence and Elizabeth imagined the captain glowering at his men.

“Get out of here,” he said quietly. “The first one of you who touches my property again will be fed to the sharks. Get out!”

A confused jumbling of hurried footsteps followed the Captain’s words, then the angry slam of the door. Elizabeth managed a sigh of relief but wondered if she was any better off: With her luck she had just gone from the frying pan into the fire. She remembered all the stories she’d heard of captains with hooks for hands and wooden legs. She wondered if any of them ever had wooden.....”Welcome aboard my ship!” the captain said jovially. She heard him moving about the cabin, heard the clink of glasses and the sound of spirits being poured.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked. Elizabeth was not sure what her reply might bring, so she remained silent. She heard the scrape of chair leg along the floor.

“Well, now,” he said conversationally. “I find myself perplexed. We’ll be casting off any time now, and I am undecided if I should savor you now or wait until we are out to sea. I’d like to take a peek at you, but I’m afraid you’ll be ugly. I can’t abide ugly women. I suppose I could leave the sack over your head though, if that were the case. Rather difficult to kiss that way, though. Hmmm.” The sound of liquid swishing around a glass came to her.

As if deciding for him, the ship suddenly shuddered and began to move. Elizabeth felt sick at heart, and a little at stomach, too. She had hoped to be able to jump ship before it cast off, or at least scream for help. Why hadn’t she taken the constable’s offer of an escort? Now she was trapped. Feeling alone and miserable, she began to cry.

“What’s this?” the Captain demanded. “Don’t do that, I warn you. Crying makes women so ugly. It makes their faces red and then their eyes swell and I won’t have it. You’d best make yourself as presentable to me as you can, or I’ll let the men have you.”

Elizabeth stopped crying.

“That’s better.” The chair legs scraped across the floor again and she heard the Captain walking. “Must have caught the tide just right, “ he muttered. “Making good headway.”

His footsteps sounded again, only this time Elizabeth knew they brought him closer to her. She tried to turn away, but the tangle of sacking was as binding as a rope.

“All right, let’s have a look, “ he said. “I guess I can always put it back if I have to.” His hands worked the cloth up and away from her, freeing her from the foul material. With a jerk he snatched it from her head.

“You!” he said.

“You!” she said.

“What the devil are you doing here?” Franklin asked. “You must have a fetish for sailors.”

“Why is it every time I go looking for Benjamin, I find you?” she demanded angrily. “You’re the one who got me into this mess to begin with.”

“What mess? You don’t think I’m going to sell you into slavery, do you? I have more compunction than that. I never sell anyone I know on a first name basis.”

“I’m talking about the whole mess! It’s all your fault that Benjamin and I got married and....”

“Married?” he asked quickly. “You and Benjamin are married?”

“Yes, and I must find him. Something terrible has happened. They’ve taken all my possessions and are going to sell them to pay my father’s debts and I must find Benjamin so he can put a stop to it.”

“Hmm,” Franklin said, thinking. Elizabeth found she did not like the idea of Franklin’s thinking. It made her very uneasy, especially when she thought of him throwing rats off London Bridge.

“So you think that goody-goody brother of mine will come to your rescue, do you?” he asked sardonically.

“Of course,” she said firmly.

“Well, he’ll have to find you first,” Franklin said.

Elizabeth knitted her brows in consternation. “What do you mean, he’ll have to find me first? Aren’t you going to take me to him?”

“Not hardly. As far as I’m concerned, he can sail around the world looking for you. I’ve got you now and I think I’ll keep you. That is, unless you begin to bore me.” He cocked a black eyebrow at her. “You aren’t boring, are you?’ he asked.

“Why you vile, black-hearted, mealy-mouthed....”

“No, I don’t think you’re very boring, after all,” Franklin said cheerfully. “Good. It should be an interesting voyage.”

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked sourly.

“To Egypt. Normally I would sell you there. They pay very well for white-skinned beauties like you. But now I don’t think I’ll do that. However, I still have business there, plus anything else that looks promising.”

“What do you mean, anything that looks promising?”

Franklin grinned devilishly. “You’ll find out.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Elizabeth had never taken an extended voyage, and found the rolling motion of the ship not unpleasant. What annoyed her was the constant shouting and shuffling on deck, the creaking and groaning of ropes and the slapping of the water. It was an awfully noisy place. She spent the first little while by herself locked in Franklin’s cabin since he had things to attend to. She watched out the tiny porthole for a while, but that was boring so she roamed about the cabin.

She found herself drawn to the many chests that seemed to line the walls. At least a quarter of the cabin’s floor space was occupied by them. Keeping a wary eye on the door so she would not be surprised by Franklin, she opened one. What she saw made her gasp. The chest was filled to overflowing with bolts of the most beautiful cloth she had ever seen. There were satins and laces and silks and brocades, as many colors as the rainbow. With this cloth, she thought, she could make a wardrobe to rival a queen’s.

Wiping the drool from her chin, she went to another chest and opened it. This one held an array of jewels that was staggering. There were emeralds and rubies and stones of colors she had never seen before. She held up a necklace, a bracelet, a brooch, each one more beautiful and stunning than the last. The light and color dazzled her.

Overcome with awe, she rushed to another trunk and flung it open. Silver and gold chalices lay there, tableware, candelabra, and bowls. She ran to another trunk and found it full of odd silver--bridles, knives, sword hilts--so much that she could not comprehend it all.

“It is a pretty sight, is it not?” Franklin said suddenly from behind her. She whirled to see him standing in the doorway, his eyes dancing with merriment. In her enchantment she had failed to hear him come in.

“Oh, you!” she said angrily. She was irritated that he had seen her gaping like a fish over his possessions. “I suppose this is all your pirate booty?” she asked, regaining her composure.

“Yes,” Franklin said unashamedly. “Would you like to see my pirate sockies, too?”

“You’re insufferable!” she declared. She flounced away from him to the porthole and stared out at the endless ocean.

Franklin moved about the cabin behind her. “This could all be yours, you know, “ he said. “If you decided to be friendly--and provided you didn’t bore me--I could give you wealth greater than anything Benjamin’s got. Just imagine--you could dress in fine eastern silks and have diamonds hanging between your marble breasts. Does that appeal to you?”

“No,” she said immediately. “It does not. I’d rather die than be ‘friendly’ to you!”

“Oh,” said Franklin. “So, it’s the high and mighty princess now, is it?” He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Elizabeth sucked in her breath at his touch. “I seem to remember a time when I had you moaning with passion, with little regard to station.” He pressed a burning kiss on her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “Have you forgotten?’

She turned to face him, the anger she felt for him fighting with the desire rising within her. “No, I haven’t forgotten,” she said heatedly. “But I have been trying! You’re the one who got me into this mess to begin with.”

“Funny about that,” he said huskily as he leaned down to kiss her neck and shoulders. She trembled under his searing lips. “Seems like Benjamin is always taking the rap for me. But actually,” he went on, “I’m willing to atone for what I’ve done. I told you, you can have any or all of the stuff you see here. That should pay the price of your virtue shouldn’t it?”

Franklin’s hands had been slipping around her as he talked, locking her in a steel embrace before she was aware of it. When it was too late, she began to struggle, pushing against him and trying to twist away. Franklin laughed.

“What’s the matter, little butterfly? Have you gotten too close to the spider’s web?”

“Let me go!” she demanded. “I’m not your concubine to take whenever it pleases you!”

“Oh, no?” Franklin grinned at her devilishly, a smirking smile on his handsome face. “Aboard this ship your choice of roles is very limited. You can either be my concubine or you can be a feast for my starving crew. Or perhaps a feast for starving sharks. Surely you would choose me over sharks?”

“Never!” she gasped. His hands were hot on her, the heat penetrating her gown to her skin, and her breathing was heavy. “I’ll take the sharks! Let me go!”

Franklin chuckled and brought one hand up to her throat, caressing the flushed skin that had begun to shine with a light sweat. He dipped his hand into her bodice, feeling the rounded swelling of her heaving breasts. With a surge of desperation, Elizabeth jerked away from him, hearing her gown rip with a sickening tear. Still not free of him, she saw his hand pull away the tattered shreds of her bodice, baring the thinly veiled lungwarts beneath her chemise.

“You didn’t have to do that, pet,” Franklin said. “I would have unbuttoned you if you’d asked.” He pressed his hand to her thundering chest, kissing and licking her salty skin while his right hand went to the buttons in back. In a twinkling, he had her gown undone and down around her ankles. Her chemise presented no challenge to him, and he quickly slipped that from her also.

“Ahh,” he said appraising her. “I had forgotten your rare beauty.” In one swift motion, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. When he dropped her there, she lay as if mesmerized. Franklin quickly shed his own clothes and came to her.

“I’ll make you remember me,” he said. He pressed his lips on her fevered flesh, stroking and caressing her with his hands. “I’ll see you forget Benjamin and think of nothing but me.”

Fat chance, thought Elizabeth. She tried to struggle against him but her body was already turning traitor to her mind. It seemed like her skin tingled at the touch of his breath, her breasts stood up hard and firm to his hand and her feet still wouldn’t do anything she told them. Franklin nibbled on the soft flesh around her nipples and she felt fiery impulses blazing under her skin. Her mind began to reel and she knew she would not be able to refuse him. When he moved on top of her, she could only moan softly and allow him to gently pry her thighs apart.

Expecting pain again, she was surprised that there was none. Instead, she felt curious, pleasant sensations radiating out over her whole body. Franklin began to move, massaging her, moving with and against her until she was synchronizing her own movements to his. The unfamiliar feelings incited her to the age-old dance of love and she found herself arching toward him through no conscious effort of her own. Her blood pounded in her head, her thoughts swam and her eyes crossed. She was enveloped in the throes of ecstasy.

Suddenly Franklin moaned and shuddered above her, then dropped heavily on top of her. She felt his leg twitch spasmodically against hers, and then deep even breathing in her ear.

“Franklin,” she said, tapping his shoulder. He didn’t move. “Franklin, wake up. Franklin!”

“Huh?” he asked sleepily, raising his head. A contented smile was on his lips, his eyes half closed.

“Is that all there is?” she asked sourly. “I said, is that all there is? Everything was going fine, but then you stopped and now I have this awful aching frustrating feeling inside. Am I supposed to feel like this?” Instinctively she knew she was not, and it piqued her that she did.

“Wait a minute, “ Franklin said brusquely. “Wait until my legs stop shaking and I can get up.”

He rolled off Elizabeth and lay still for a moment. Elizabeth felt bitter tears rising behind her eyes. She felt bitchy but did not know why. Refusing to lie so close to Franklin, she turned away from him.

He heaved himself up off the bed, and Elizabeth heard him padding about the cabin. She fought back the words that were playing on her tongue, words she knew she shouldn’t say. She felt angry and ashamed, but mostly betrayed.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said suddenly behind her. “What do you know about making love, anyway?”

“You’re right, I don’t know much, but I know it’s not supposed to feel like that! With Benjamin....”

“I don’t want to hear about Benjamin!” Franklin roared. Elizabeth had turned to face him and now cringed on the bed. She had never seen any man so mad. His little dong shriveled up as if frightened by the bellowing.

“Don’t say one more word about Benjamin,” he said with gritted teeth. He came close to the bed and his eyes bored into hers. “All I’ve ever heard is ‘Benjamin this’ and ‘Benjamin that’ and I won’t hear any more of it! I don’t give a damn about Benjamin! I’m me and I’ll do things my own way!”

Now the tears that Elizabeth had fought so hard could not be held back, and they flooded her jade-green eyes and spilled out on her cheeks. She was angry and confused and miserable and all she wanted was to be back at Wildwood. Her whole life had turned crazy and she desperately wished it was the way it used to be.

Franklin had watched her crying silently, his eyes betraying nothing of what he was feeling. Finally he turned and put his clothes on, then left the cabin without another word. He slammed the door behind him.

Elizabeth found herself totally exhausted in the aftermath. The mental and physical exertions of the last few days finally caught up with her, and even while she was trying to figure out what to do next, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 4

When Elizabeth awoke, the cabin was dark. She was disoriented at first, not knowing where she was. Then it all came back to her--her poverty, her kidnapping, her brutal violation and finally, her wet, sticky butt. Feeling defiled and dirty, she got up.

She noticed right away that there was no bathtub. More than anything else, she wanted a bath, but that luxury was denied her. Finally she found a pitcher of water and took a corner of her ripped gown and washed herself as best she could. She wanted to wash all trace of Franklin from her skin, and she rubbed it until it blushed a rosy pink.

Casting about for her clothes, she found them in a jumbled pile on the floor. Her chemise was still in one piece luckily, but her dress was a disaster. She put it on anyway, tucking the ripped pieces inside so although it was lower and puckered more than it should, it stayed up.

Rummaging about in Franklin’s big roll top desk, she found a brush and proceeded to untangle her long golden hair. At first the wild disarray of it would not be tamed, but she had nothing better to do so she kept at it until it was a thick, long curtain of silk.

That done, she roamed about the cabin. She paused to look out the porthole, but it was so dark outside, she could barely distinguish the ocean from the sky. Restless, she turned back to the cabin. She wondered when Franklin would come back, and what mood he would be in. The thought panicked her. She was so tired of all this nonsense! It seemed that she was nothing but a bit of dandelion fluff, blown this way and that by one wind or another, with no will of her own.

She sat down on the bed and smoothed her skirt. Maybe when Franklin came back they could discuss their situation calmly. She would like to think that he wasn’t so keen on keeping her prisoner anymore, and perhaps would let her go. Maybe he’d set her free in France. She’d never been to France. That thought brightened her a little and she lay back on the bunk to pursue it further. Before she knew it she had fallen asleep again.

When Elizabeth finally clawed her way up from the abyss of sleep, she was disoriented. Never being much of an oriental anyway, she had trouble realizing where she was. The strange round holes that the sunlight streamed through began to awaken things in her, and she looked about. Then she realized with horror that she was in Franklin’s bunk laying half sprawled across Franklin’s body.

Her arm lay flung across his chest and the crisp mat of black hair tickled her tender flesh. One leg lay over his and she was appalled to find herself naked again. The intimacy of the scene shocked her, and she gasped involuntarily. Her sudden movement awakened Franklin and his frosty blue eyes stared down at her.

“Good morning, pet,” he said lazily. His lips curled into a sensuous smile. “You make a perfect bed warmer.” He slipped one arm about her narrow waist.

“Oh!” she said, suddenly angry, and she tried to turn away. She was brought up short by a tug on her hair and she realized it was caught under his shoulder. She was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web.

“Now,” said Franklin when he was satisfied she couldn’t get away. He slid his other arm around her and pulled her close to him, her tender flesh bruising against his more muscular body. His passion quickly aroused, along with other things, he kissed her long and deep, his tongue penetrating all the sweet, secret places of her mouth. Elizabeth felt the now familiar flame of desire spreading through her, much as she tried to deny it. She was ripe and ready for Franklin to pluck her, and she knew by now that struggling would only make her more helpless.

Suddenly Franklin released her, and in one quick movement was out of bed. Elizabeth lay still, not understanding why he had stopped kindling the fire in her.

“Turn your head,” he said.

“What?” she asked incredulously.

“Turn your head,” he repeated commandingly. Elizabeth obeyed, turning to the wall. She could hear him rummaging about but still did not understand.

Then he was slipping back in bed and turning her toward him. She felt his hard hands moving over her body, sparking her to passion, pressing and probing and caressing until she was aflame with it. Involuntarily, she pressed herself closer to him, allowing him to kiss her open mouth and taut breasts. She arched against him, her body demanding more of his attention until she felt him probing her thighs. Without conscious thoughts, she opened to him and he entered her. Confident that she was past any painfulness, she

was surprised when it hurt again.

“Jesus Christ!” she said under her breath. Then the pain was gone and all she felt was a myriad tingling like hundreds of nerve endings being stimulated at one time. The weight of Franklin’s body on hers drove her to more exciting gyrations, and they began to

move together in the singular act. Elizabeth felt the uncontrollable passion rising in her like a geyser, the pressure building, the force becoming unbearable until she clutched at Franklin and gouged him with her nails. Her breath came in short pants, like bloomers, and her voice caught in her throat. As she reached the height of her passion, she pressed back into one magnificent arch, accepted Franklin to the hilt, then lay still.

Elizabeth felt as if all her strength had drained out of her. She opened her eyes but the cabin spun around her, so she closed them again. Her breath came in great gushes, her lungs clutching at the air. Franklin lay quiet on top of her, apparently as tired and drawn as she.

Finally he eased off her and lay beside her. She was half wondering why he had evoked such a different feeling in her this time when she finally opened her eyes and looked down.

“Eeeeehh!” she screamed, scrambling away from him. “What’s that?” she pointed down to the thing she had never seen before. Franklin didn’t even bother to look.

“Nice, huh?” he asked.

“What is it?” she asked. Her eyes were wide.

“It’s a handy little gadget I picked up in France.” Elizabeth looked closer. It was at least as big as Benjamin, if not bigger, and had funny little knobs all over it. She realized that Franklin had somehow attached it to himself and it had been that--thing--that had given her such pleasure.

“That’s disgusting!” she said finally. She busied herself with pulling the blankets up over her flushed body. Her eyes involuntarily drifted back to the thing she was trying to avoid.

“You didn’t think so ten minutes ago,” he said mockingly.

“Oh, you!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you have some captain’s business to be about?”

“I thought that was what I was just about,” he answered lazily.

“You’re insufferable!”

“Yes, so you’ve said before. Well, pet,” he said, patting her stomach, “I must be about. There are captain’s duties.” He got up and dressed with his back turned so Elizabeth did not see what happened to the French gadget. Franklin came and stood over her. “I’ll have some breakfast sent to you, pet. Have a nice day.” With a bow and a flourish, he left.

Elizabeth relaxed back against the cushions and wondered about her captor. He had her at his mercy and yet he seemed concerned with her pleasure as much, if not more, than his. He was a very strange man. And she realized with a flow surprise that he actually was making her forget Benjamin.

Suddenly the cabin door opened and a small thin man backed in. He carried a tray of steaming repast and Elizabeth’s mouth watered. Then the little man turned around and she gave a start of surprise.

“Mr. Pramburg!” she said incredulously. The watery blue eyes passed over her with a look of disgust mixed with contempt, the thin, blue lips curled into a sneer.

“No, madam,” the man said nastily. “I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else. My name is George Farnbuck. I’ve brought your breakfast.”

Ignoring Elizabeth’s look of incredulity, he put the tray on her lap, quickly snatching his hand away as if he did not want to touch her. With a barely perceptible nod, he turned to leave.

“Oh, Mr., uh, Farnbuck,” she called. “I should like to have a bath. Would you bring me a tub and some hot water?” She munched her toast with the attitude of one who is used to being obeyed. The question was just a formality.

“Certainly, madam,” he sneered. His thin, spidery hand opened the door and he left.

Elizabeth sampled all the luscious treats that had been prepared for her eagerly. She hadn’t eaten for almost twenty-four hours, plus look at all the exercise she’d had! Her tray had eggs and toast and muffins and jam and honey and tea and little cakes. She tried everything, found it all very tasty and proceeded to eat every bit of it.

While she ate, Mr. Farnbuck brought in a big metal tub and kettle after kettle of boiling hot water. Every time he came in, Elizabeth appeared very engrossed in her breakfast and no other words were spoken. She didn’t like the reedy little man at all.

When Mr. Farnbuck left for the last time, she put her tray down and padded over to the tub. The water steamed as if still over a fire, but the thought of a hot bath was so appealing that she decided to risk the heat. She dipped one trim toe into the water, let her tingling skin become used to the temperature, then lowered herself in. The hot water stung and reddened her tender skin, but the warmth felt good. After she was sitting in the tub she realized she had no soap, then felt a melted lump on the bottom of the tub. She retrieved the soap, glad and surprised that it was a scented one, very delicate, and scrubbed her body free of the last few days’ wear.

While she washed, she began to think about her position. She was sitting down. She was also still kidnapped by a merciless pirate who had offered her wealth beyond her imagination and had a wonderful wood-pecker. But, she recalled, she was married to the knave’s twin, who was considerably more honorable and probably as rich and who didn’t need gadgets to make her happy. She began to wonder if she would ever see her husband again. For a brief moment she wished desperately for a quiet home with Benjamin, a normal home where she could relax and be gracious and have children. It didn’t look like she would ever have it, though.

Clean at last, she stood and looked about for a towel. There was none. Feeling irritated, she stood naked in the tub, not sure whether she ought to risk Franklin’s ire by walking across to the bed and getting the floor all wet.

Just then, Franklin burst through the door, a towel in hand and a gleam in his eye.

“Well, well,” he said cheerfully.

Elizabeth felt her entire body blushing, and she turned her back on him as her only defense.

“That presents an interesting view,” Franklin said. “Do you know that your rear end is beautiful when it’s red?” He crossed quickly to her and draped the towel across her shoulders, his hand trailing to her lovely red behind. “As a matter of fact,” he said huskily against her ear, “I find it very arousing.”

“No,” she groaned. Here she had just gotten herself clean and he wanted to mess around again. “Can’t you leave me be for any length of time at all?”

“Afraid not, pet,” he answered. He circled her with his arms, under the towel, his hands hot against her already warm skin. “Maybe if your body weren’t so perfectly made for love I could leave you.” He kissed her ear. “But it is and I can’t.” With a quick smooth motion he scooped her up in his arms and left the towel to drop back into the tepid water. Elizabeth felt her body responding to his intent already, and she cursed Franklin because what he said was true.

Franklin quickly crossed to the bunk, but instead of laying her there he sat on the edge and held her in his lap. She could feel his meager manhood trying to make a decent show of it.

“I think perhaps I’ve concentrated my attention too much on one area,” he mused out loud. “I think perhaps it’s time to move on to other things.”

Elizabeth stared at him wide-eyed, not understanding what he meant. She was beginning to be afraid.

“Don’t be frightened, pet,” Franklin cooed. “Here, lay down.” He coaxed her down across his lap, her belly resting on his knees. “You have a lovely back,” he said, stroking her back with a gentle hand. Elizabeth began to tremble. “And such a lovely behind.”

Suddenly Franklin’s hand came down with a stinging slap and Elizabeth felt her bottom flare with pain.

“Oh!” she gasped. The tears sprang instantly to her eyes. Franklin’s hand came down again hard and strong and the pain stung sharply. Then again and again and again. Elizabeth’s eyes filled and overflowed with tears and the pain degraded and humiliated her. She wondered what she had done wrong to make Franklin treat her like this. What had she done to make him angry?

The spanking went on until Franklin tired, and then he sat with his stinging red hand resting on her stinging red behind. She wondered what would happen next.

“That was nice,” he said finally. His voice was tired but satisfied. Elizabeth took the relaxed moment to jump up and skitter away from him. She turned hurt and frightened eyes to him.

“What’s the matter, pet?” he asked. “Haven’t you ever done anything kinky before?”

Elizabeth was uncomprehending.

Franklin got up and stretched his legs. “I guess I’ll have to change my breeches before I go out again.” Elizabeth looked away from him while he did so. Then he came to her and put one finger under her chin. “There is much that I will teach you,” he said.

“There is a lot about love you don’t know, but I will unlock the doors for you.” He kissed her and left.

Elizabeth was frightened. What did he mean by that? She thought she had been taught everything there was about love already t although not by choice. She had been forced into so many odd situations, though, that she could not begin to imagine what might come next.

She tried to relax but found it difficult. One problem was that she had no clothes on. She found her chemise in a jumbled pile but her dress was nowhere around. Finally, she pulled out a piece of red velvet from one of the sea trunks and wrapped it about her like a toga.

That solved one problem, but she was still restless. She roamed about the cabin like a caged tiger in a red velvet toga. Whenever she looked out the porthole, the empty expanse of ocean only served to remind her of how isolated and alone she was. Finally, she found a book in Franklin’s roll top desk and sat down to read.

Shortly, Mr. Farnbuck brought her lunch in to her on a tray. They eyed each other disdainfully t each wary of the other. Farnbuck sat the tray down with a sneer and left without a word. Elizabeth picked at her lunch, wondering what would happen next. She finally thrust the tray away and resumed reading just so she could get her mind off her dilemma.

Later in the afternoon, she was startled by Franklin bursting into the cabin. He stood a little unsteadily and Elizabeth realized he had been drinking. He leered at her and there was a lustful gleam in his eye. She cowered behind her book, fearful of what he was thinking.

”Well, pet,” he said with a slur. “You’ve made yourself right at home in my absence.” He strolled in casually, leaving the door open. That was very forgetful of him, Elizabeth thought.

He came to stand beside her, leering down at her. “That velvet becomes you.” He took her hand and pulled her up to him, letting the book fall to the floor. “I shall have a dress made for you with it. The most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen.” In one swell foop, Franklin caught the velvet and jerked it so it fell from around her. She stood in all her glory and tried vainly to cover herself, but Franklin grabbed her hands and held her firmly. “Oh, no, pet,” he said. “It’s time for another lesson. My star pupil has much to learn, and I have planned the next lesson carefully. Here.”

With a rough jerk, he towed her over to the bed. His grasp on her wrists was harsh and his fingers bit into her flesh. Before she could comprehend what was happening, he had snatched up the sheet and tied it securely around her wrists, then wrapped it around the wood of the bunk.

“What are you doing?” she asked weakly. Wasn’t she prisoner enough on his ship, she wondered. Was he afraid of her trying to sneak out of the cabin? As if she would take her chances with the lustful crew!

“Turn around,” he ordered. Fearful now, she turned away from him toward the bunk. The sheet twisted as she moved, cutting deeper into her wrists. Franklin’s hands caressed her trim ass. “Your ass is beautiful when it’s red.” His voice shifted as he called over his shoulder.

“Farnbuck! Come here!”

The idea of Franklin gazing on her naked body was still foreign to Elizabeth, although she was losing some of her modesty, but the thought of that awful Mr. Farnbuck staring at her like this was panicking to her. She began to struggle furiously, trying desperately to loosen her bonds while at the same time trying to cover herself. She succeeded in neither very well.

Frantic at the sound of footsteps behind her, she glanced over her milky white shoulder and saw Mr. Farnbuck approaching. He had various objects in his arms, the foremost of which was a big black bullwhip. Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide in disbelief and then her struggles increased with new fervor.

Farnbuck dumped his armload of objects on the bunk and chuckled maliciously. Elizabeth noticed thankfully that he then backed away behind Franklin as if awaiting instructions. She peeked over her arms at the array of articles. Except for the bullwhip, they didn’t look harmful, but she knew they boded no good will for her. There was an odd little egg-shaped object with a cord connected to it, two smaller silver balls about the size of ball bearings, a string of pearls, several silk scarves, a Ping-Pong paddle, and a German Shepard. The dog grinned at her.

“Franklin, please,” she said softly. She was already beginning to weaken and she knew her paltry strength was no match against Franklin’s. Her only hope lay in her ability to reason with him and make him release her.

“Don’t fret, pet,” Franklin said jovially. Even though he’d been drinking, he was aware enough so that he was enjoying himself immensely. He began to rifle through the objects on the bed, fingering each thoughtfully. “Hmmmm,” he mused. “I wonder which one....”

“Oh, the whip, Captain!” said Farnbuck excitedly. He began to hop from one foot to the other like a little kid that had to go wee-wee. “The whip! The whip!” he shouted.

“Ohhhh,” Elizabeth moaned. She was beginning to feel faint. She was beginning to feel sick, too. Farnbuck’s crazed high-pitched voice sent shivers down her spine, and Franklin’s thoughtful silence was forbidding. She looked over at him and almost swooned when she saw him pick up the whip.

“God in heaven, Franklin!” she pleaded. “Please don’t use that on me! I’ll do anything else you say, but please don’t use that!”

“This harmless little toy?” Franklin asked. “But it will make your tutu such a lovely red color, and I love a red tutu.”

“Please, Franklin!” she cried. “I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Franklin leered.

“The whip! The whip!” Farnbuck shouted.

Franklin fingered the wrapped handle of the whip, tapping his handsome chin with the coil of it. Elizabeth’s skin was clear and smooth, so unmarked. A mad light shone in his eye.

Elizabeth screamed when she saw him rear. The whip soared over his head and cracked behind him, then began to coil forward like a deadly snake. Elizabeth took a big breath and braced herself for the stinging lash.

Instead of the searing pain she expected, she was jolted but not harmed by a great quake of the entire ship. She saw Franklin falter and the whip slither to the ground. Farnbuck buckled to his knees. “Earthquake! Earthquake!” the little man screamed. Amid all the hubbub, Elizabeth could hear the renting tear of wood and the confusion of many voices overhead.

Franklin regained his wits quickly and leaped to the porthole. Anger and dismay twisted his face.

“Benjamin!” he roared.

“Thank God, Benjamin!” Elizabeth breathed.

“Quick, Farnbuck,” Franklin ordered. “On deck! I’ll see that blackguard goody-two-shoes destroyed yet!” Leaving Elizabeth to struggle vainly with her bonds, the two men charged out of the cabin up into the fray.

Blinded by her position, Elizabeth could only speculate on the fighting. She realized quickly that the great lurch of the ship had to have been caused by Benjamin’s own ship ramming theirs. The rest was more difficult to tell. She heard voices, both jubilant and dismayed, and the silvered ping of swords crossing and locking. She heard the thunder of cannon and bombs bursting in air, and occasionally the ship would shiver and quake beneath her.

Then a cannon blasted closer than any she’d heard and the sound of cracking, splintering wood assailed her ears. When she recovered from the jolt, she panicked at the sight of water rooster-tailing into the cabin. The dirty, gray water swirled about her ankles in a furious eddy, like Duane, and the cold gripped her in a panic. She tried to remain calm, but finally could control herself no longer and screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

She didn’t even hear the cabin door kicked open. The first clue she had that she wasn’t alone was when cold water hit her bare back, and she turned and saw Benjamin--or was it Franklin?--coming toward her.

“Elizabeth!” he said and she knew it was her husband. He waded through the knee-deep water and was at her side in a moment. His strong arms went around her and she fell gratefully into them. The last thing she remembered was him untying her hands.

When Elizabeth awoke, she had no idea where she was. There were warm blankets about her and the subtle comfort of dark, wood paneled wails everywhere she looked. Wherever it was it was nice and comfortable and she snuggled down into the blankets.

When the door opened, she was almost afraid to see who it was. She would rather have gone on being alone than be forced to have an exchange with anyone. Too much had happened, and she did not have enough strength to go through another ordeal.

In the darkening twilight, Benjamin’s broad figure came toward her. She tried to wriggle down beneath the blankets, but his eyes caught hers as he sat on the bunk. He looked at her inquiringly.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly. His concern clouded his blue eyes.

Elizabeth mentally took stock of her condition and finally nodded. Benjamin seemed to breathe easier for it.

“What happened?” she asked. She had no idea how long it had been since she had fainted. Was it the same day or the next?

“It’s all over,” Benjamin said. “We crippled Franklin’s ship so that he had to limp into the nearest port or sink. It’ll take some work, but he can repair the damage. We injured some of his men, but not seriously. I was more worried about you than anything.”

“No, I’m all right, I think,” she said. She moved an arm experimentally and found no soreness. “How did you find us?”

“It wasn’t hard,” Benjamin said. “As soon as I got back to port I tried to find you and learned about your father’s debts. From there, 1 figured you would have tried to find me, and I expected you’d be kidnapped by Franklin’s men. They do that frequently. I knew Franklin would head for the Mediterranean and Africa so I followed.”

“I’m so glad,” she said. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come.”

“If I hadn’t come, Franklin would have,” he said. “I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you.”

“Luckily, no. But those awful things he had, and that awful Mr. Farnbuck!”

“Yes, I know,” Benjamin soothed. “I told you my brother was a rogue with a bad case of penile-overcompensation. But he does have one redeeming quality about him.”

“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked.

“He looks just like me.”

“That’s true. But he’s still awful.”

“Well, we won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Where are we going?” she asked. Although the danger was passed, she was still not at home or out of difficulty.

“As long as we’re so close to France, we’re going to make a pit stop there, then we’ll go home.”

“Home,” she said quietly. “I have no home. They took it all away from me.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Don’t fret about that,” Benjamin said. “We’ll get by.” He patted her arm and got up to leave. “Rest now. You’ve been through an ordeal and I know you’re tired. I’ll check back later.” And he left.

Elizabeth slept a great deal that day and the next few days that followed. She seemed to fall into a semi-conscious state, but she was lying down and didn’t hurt herself. Days melted together into a hodgepodge of awakenings and drifting off, and she was unaware of time.

She slept like a log that first night and didn’t awaken until very early in the morning. As her eyes became accustomed to the dawn light she became aware that Benjamin was sleeping soundly beside her. She had cuddled against him in her sleep and he held her tenderly. At first she would have moved away, but she was fearful of awakening him. And besides, he felt good. She settled against him and fell back asleep.

When she awoke later that day, it was past noon. She ventured out of bed to get up and go to a porthole and look out. The water was very green and pretty, and seemed friendlier than the water outside Franklin’s porthole. She wondered how far they were from France. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the cabin door opening. She turned to see a thin man backing in with a tray.

“Trevor!” she cried. Her old man servant turned and stood formally, his familiar sour face gazing back at her.

“Lunch, madam,” he announced.

“Oh, just put it anywhere, Trevor,” she said, waving a hand about. “Tell me what happened! How did you get here?”

Trevor set the tray down on Benjamin’s desk and stood before Elizabeth.

“Well, madam,” he said, “when you were in the Magistrate’s office, Mr. Pramburg came along and told me you wouldn’t be needing me anymore and that I should take the carriage and put it in his own stable and then go find myself another position. I tried the missionary but the woman’s husband got perturbed, so I went looking again. Finally I found Mr. Benjamin and he hired me on board his ship. Nasty work, this, but all I could find.” He stood expectantly before Elizabeth, looking over her head.

“Oh, Trevor!” she said. “I felt terrible when you’d gone but I didn’t know where you were. Now we can be together again.”

“Yes, madam,” Trevor said stonily. He took her lunch off the tray and picked up the tray to leave.

“Thank you, Trevor,” she said happily. He turned and walked out. She felt immensely better now knowing her faithful and trusted servant had not been compromised by her difficulties. She had worried greatly about him but now she was relieved. She ate her lunch feeling lighter than she had for days. She almost floated out of her chair but she ate a biscuit and right away it weighted her down. After lunch she sat and looked out the porthole for a short time then retired back to bed.

That evening Benjamin returned to the cabin and was working on his ledgers when Elizabeth awoke. She lay still and watched him for a moment, wondering what sort of marl her husband was. In all her adventures, she still didn’t know him very well. Actually, she couldn’t tell the difference between him and Franklin, but she knew there was a great difference. And it wasn’t all below the belt.

Benjamin must have felt her gaze on him for he suddenly turned toward her. His ice blue eyes softened as he met her stare, and she blushed slightly.

“I’m glad you’re awake.” He got up and came to sit beside her on the bunk. “I have something I wanted to discuss with you. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answered. The nearness of him made her suddenly shy, and she cast her eyes down to the floor.

“Good,” he said. He rested his hand closer to her arm but not touching her. He smiled at her happily.

“We’re almost to France,” he began. Elizabeth studied him as he spoke, eager now for his words. “We should be docking late tomorrow if the wind is with us. If it’s not, we won’t get there for another week. Would you like to take a little holiday in Paris?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I have never been to Paris.”

“Good. We can take a few days and see the sights. I know you’ll like it.” He paused as if that subject was settled and he was not quite sure how to move on to the next. His hand inched toward hers and covered her fingers, the gentle touch burning her flesh. She was suddenly apprehensive.

“Elizabeth,” he began, “ I know you’ve been through a lot, and I know you need time to recover, but about our marriage....”

He left the words hanging and stared meaningfully at her, his blue eyes delving into her very soul.

“Really, Mr. Elliott,” she said, suddenly angry. “After being taken captive by your horrible brother and having all sorts of atrocities forced on me, you ask about our marriage? As if I haven’t been used and abused enough? As if I haven’t been defiled and deflowered already? How dare you?” She drew herself up indignantly, her cheeks flaming with anger.

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” Benjamin said. His hand pressed hers.

“Oh!” Elizabeth said and snatched her fingers away. Benjamin would have liked to do the opposite, but he knew she was upset. He smiled good-humoredly at her anger, which only made her madder. “You’re just like your brother.” she accused.

“No, I’m not,” he said. “I thought I told you about that.”

“I don’t want to hear it!” she cried. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? I’m sick and tired of being used by you Elliotts, so just leave me alone!” She threw herself down on the bunk and pulled the sheets up over her head, presenting her back to Benjamin. Then, remembering Franklin’s penchant for backs, she scooted away from him to the wall. She heard Benjamin chuckle and then felt his weight lift from the bunk.

“All right, pet,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone--for now.” His footsteps sounded across the wooden floor and then the heavy cabin door opened and closed. Elizabeth was alone.

She turned and looked about the empty cabin angrily. Why did these things keep happening to her? Why were men always so demanding? And why did Benjamin leave without even trying to get fresh? She was glad he had left, but disappointed too. She was beginning to feel lonely for the first time since she’d been rescued from Franklin.

CHAPTER 5

The next afternoon there was a cry all about the ship of “Land ho!” and Elizabeth could see the dark mass rising out of the horizon. “That’s France!” she said to herself. The thought was like adrenaline in her blood, and she could feel it pounding in her head. She hoped France would be as exciting as she’d heard. But would Benjamin still take her to Paris? And what would he expect if he did?

For the rest of the afternoon she stayed by the porthole and watched France loom closer and closer. Trevor brought her some lunch at one point, but she could only pick at it and then return to her lookout. She was far too excited to eat.

Not long before sunset, Benjamin came to the cabin with a bundle under his arm. Elizabeth glanced at him cursorily, then back to France. She was not eager to converse with him, since it always seemed to get back to the same subject.

“Can you see it?” he asked cheerfully. She didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve brought you some clothes, since you can’t go traipsing about Paris in sailor’s dress. Try them on and see how they fit.” He tossed some drab articles on the bunk for her and purposely turned away.

At first unwilling to do anything he suggested, Elizabeth took stock of her dress and realized he was right. She hesitated at the bunk, afraid that he would turn to look as soon as she disrobed, but the idea of wearing feminine skirts again finally won out. She threw off her make-do outfit and pulled the first gown over her head. It was an ugly color, a drab brown with no bright trim to break up the darkness. Still it was not a bad fit and lay smoothly over her hips and buttocks. The bodice however was a trifle tight, causing her breasts to swell above the neckline like two ripe, beautiful cantaloupes.

“Let me see,” Benjamin said. Forgetting her anger momentarily, and wanting a second opinion, she turned and allowed him a lingering look. “Well,” he said finally, “you certainly do wonders for an ugly gown. On you it looks beautiful.” He began to step toward her, but she quickly turned her back.

“Please don’t,” she said levelly. “There’s still another to try on.” She knew by the sound of his footsteps that he had honored her wish.

The second gown was thin and threadbare but clean. It was a dove gray color and fit much like the first, except there was lace at the throat and wrists. She allowed Benjamin a look at this one too, and was secretly glad at the compliments he paid her.

“Which one do you think I ought to wear in Paris?” she asked.

“Oh, the brown, definitely,” he said. She wondered if it was really a matter of fashion or if he just liked seeing her swelling breasts rise above the neckline. But she supposed it didn’t matter.

“Who’s gowns are these?” she asked. It had just come to her that she was the only woman on board ship--or was she?

“Well, uh,” Benjamin began awkwardly. “Actually, they, uh, belong to, uh....”

“Yes?” she prompted. She was beginning to see red and had already decided to scratch the girl’s eyes out. She didn’t care if she had turned Benjamin away; he was her husband and no hussy was going to have him!

“Well, I suppose you would have found out anyway,” he said helplessly. “They belong to Trevor.”

“Trevor?” she almost screamed. “What are you talking about? In all the years he had been with my family he never brought a woman to....”

“No, no, I don’t mean that,” Benjamin said. “He didn’t buy them for a woman.”

“Then what do you mean?” she asked, perplexed. “If he didn’t buy them for a woman, who did he buy them for?”

“Ahem,” Benjamin said, then added under his breath, “For himself.”

“For himself?” she cried. “What do you mean?” The gown began to make her skin crawl and she had a desperate need to rip it off her body. As if he had read her mind, Benjamin stepped forward and took her hands.

“Now, Elizabeth,” he said quickly, “don’t be like that. I think it was very nice of Trevor to loan them to you. He didn’t want to at first, but I told him you had nothing to wear and I promised him you’d take care of them. They’re the only gowns he had that you could wear around town.”

Elizabeth quieted, thinking he was right and she should be grateful. After all, she wouldn’t be able to go out at all if she had to wear those sailor’s hand-me-downs.

“Very well,” she said finally. She folded the brown one up carefully and set it at the foot of the bunk. She kicked the sailor outfit into a corner. It was such a relief being in a dress again that she didn’t dwell on where it came from. She would think about that later.

“We ought to be docking shortly,” Benjamin said. As if to illustrate the point, the ship bumped against something hard and Elizabeth had to steady herself against the bunk.

“Is that France?” she asked.

Benjamin rushed to the porthole and looked out. “Damn it, I told the men to call me before they docked her. They’ve probably put all kinds of scratches in the side.” With a quick turn and a bound, he was gone out of the cabin.

Elizabeth took this time alone to gaze out the porthole and get her first impression of France. At first it didn’t seem very different from any other port, but then she noticed the funny little hats of the men and the languid, feline movements of the women. The scene around her was almost like a play being performed for her eyes only. She saw a man hauling a fishing net from a boat in order to mend a hole in it. A thin, jaded-looking woman sauntered over to him and stood watching him disdainfully. Finally she reached a hand down to his pants and he began to pay more attention to her. Farther along the dock, Elizabeth saw some children playing noisily with a dead fish. They squealed and laughed and hit the fish with a stick, and Elizabeth warmed to see them playing so happily. She wondered if she would ever have children of her own.

To the other side of the dock were an old woman selling fish and her daughter selling crabs. The old woman was blind, and her sightless eyes turned beseechingly on noisy passersby. When a stroller came close enough, she would clutch their arms desperately, thrusting a limp fish into their faces and talking rapidly in her poetic French. Her daughter called out and beckoned to people walking by as well, and if a man chanced to stop long enough, she seized his hand and placed it modestly down her bodice against her breasts. To emphasize her salable items, she would grind her hips meaningfully against his and roll her eyes. Elizabeth wondered if body language was always such an integral part of French communications.

She contented herself with watching and waiting until she saw some of Benjamin’s crew unloading goods on the dock. Then she realized how long she’d been trapped on one ship or another for so long and she was impatient to get off. She began to fidget with the lace at her throat and to toy with her honey colored hair. She wished Benjamin would come back so they could leave for Paris.

Finally he did come back, but it was well into dark before he did. She could no longer see the people on the docks unless they passed directly under the street candles and she was growing bored and restless. When Benjamin strolled into the cabin, she could have hugged him with relief. Instead, she stood by the wall and lifted her chin regally.

“So you finally remembered me,” she said coolly. “I thought perhaps you had forgotten I was even here.”

”I could never forget you,” Benjamin said. He came close to her and stared down into her emerald green eyes. The corner of his lip twitched as if he would smile at her any minute, but she kept her expression level. “Are you too angry with me to spend a few days with me in Paris?” he asked teasingly.

She stared up into his ice blue eyes, wanting to slap his handsome face, but knowing she would not. She would go to Paris, although she reminded herself that she was not giving in to any demands he might make on her. He would find out that she was not a woman to be bought by favors.

“I have never seen Paris,” she said, dismissing his earlier question, “but I should like to.”

“Good,” Benjamin said. “I’m afraid it’s too late to start out tonight, so we’ll stay over here for the night and get an early start tomorrow. I’ve had Trevor go on ahead to the inn and get us a room and order our dinner, so we should be going. Are you ready?”

At the mention of food, Elizabeth was suddenly very hungry. As a matter of fact, her stomach felt as if her throat were cut. She gathered up the extra gown and lifted her skirts daintily above her trim ankles, then let Benjamin lead her out of the cabin.

The fresh night air felt refreshing on her face after living below decks so long, and she breathed deeply. Benjamin stood and waited for her like a dutiful husband, then took her arm as they started down the dock.

“I am capable of walking by myself,” she said, as if he had asked.

“You don’t have your land legs about you yet,” he said. “It will take you a bit to get used to it again.”

“I’ll be fine as soon as we get off this dock. I wish it wouldn’t move and roll so.” She stumbled and almost fell down, but Benjamin’s hand tight on her arm kept her upright.

“That’s what I mean,” Benjamin said. “This dock is moored to solid rock and isn’t moving at all.”

They made their way through the streets, Elizabeth crowding close to Benjamin when she noticed the grimy beggars that prowled the dock area. Before she hadn’t been close enough to see the toothless grins that leered at her, but now the grizzled faces were much too close. She hung on Benjamin’s arm the whole way to the inn.

Trevor sat waiting for them at a table and as soon as they came in, he signaled for their plates to be brought. The steaming mutton smelled like the most delicious cuisine ever set before her, and Elizabeth needed no more prompting. She had finished her plate and the last of her bread when Benjamin was still eating.

While she waited, she looked about the common room at the French people. They looked remarkably like English people, with the exception of their dress, and it seemed odd to Elizabeth that they muttered and cursed in a foreign tongue. She wished she could understand what they were saying.

“Well, pet,” Benjamin said. “Have you had enough to eat?”

She forced her eyes back to his and realized that he had been watching her watching the other people.

“Yes,” she said.

“Good. Then you’ll probably be wanting a bath and a good night’s sleep. Trevor, may we see our rooms?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor said. He got up and led the way up some stairs at the back of the common room. Elizabeth remembered that the dress she was wearing was Trevor’s and she felt suddenly embarrassed. She cast her eyes down to the wood floor at her feet and realized uncomfortably that Trevor was wearing high-heeled patent leather boots.

At the top of the landing, Trevor walked down a narrow hall past several doors and finally stopped at one. He pushed the door open and stood aside, allowing Elizabeth and Benjamin to go on in.

The room was small, but clean, and Elizabeth noted with satisfaction that there was a big wooden tub of steaming water for her bath. The thing she didn’t like was the large double bed staring back at her. Suddenly Benjamin seemed too close, and she moved a few steps away from him. She feigned interest in the porcelain bowl and pitcher on a low table, hoping he would leave. Luckily, he seemed to take quick store of the situation and turned to leave.

“Why don’t you relax, pet? I’m going back downstairs with Trevor for a while. If you need anything, just scream.” Elizabeth suffered a small kiss on her cheek before he left.

Feeling instantly more active now that she was alone, she made sure the door was locked and then shed her clothes. She found a clean rag and a bar of scented soap and climbed carefully into the tub. The water was still very hot, but instantly relaxing as it caressed her tired body. It got fresh once, but she pushed it away. She leaned back in the tub and let the water soak away all her weariness and fatigue.

After she had washed herself thoroughly with the scented soap, Elizabeth toweled off with a fluffy white towel that had been left for her. She dried her skin until it turned a blushing pink and she felt greatly invigorated. She dressed carefully and took more time brushing her hair than she had in weeks. Just being able to get so completely clean was a godsend to her, and she was in high spirits by the time she was done.

Her toilet out of the way, she took time to examine the room. There was a sturdy chest of drawers that she put her second dress in, and she found clean men’s clothes in there as well. She noticed an array of bottles, and she found perfumes and colognes and she dabbed a bit of one behind her ears. Then she moved to the window and opened it so the cool evening air would dry the cologne. She stared out at the darkness and noticed two figures embracing in the shadows below.

“I’ve missed you, Christine,” a low male voice said. Elizabeth thought his mouth must have been muffled against the girl’s hair because she could not hear him clearly. Unable to control her curiosity, she leaned out the window.

“I’ve missed you, too, Benjamin,” the girl’s voice said. For a moment Elizabeth thought that was very curious that the man should have the same name as her husband. Then she realized that man was her husband!

“You must be tired after your trip. Come in and let me get you some supper.”

“No, Benjamin, not yet. I just want to look at you, to feel you. It’s been so long!”

“All right,” Benjamin said. “But here, put my cloak around you. It’s getting chilly out here.”

Elizabeth watched as her husband put his cloak around the woman, and the great green monster clutched at her heart. How dare he bring another woman here? Even if she had denied him his husband’s rights, that gave him no right to bring his mistress here. The anger rose in her, almost choking her, and she felt herself flushing red. That scoundrel! If he thought she was distant to his advances before, he would find out now how distant she could be! With a violent shove, she slammed the window closed and stomped away from it. She wanted desperately to throw something, but didn’t want Benjamin to have the satisfaction of knowing she’d had a tantrum. Finally she grabbed a straight back chair and braced it up against the door. Satisfied that Benjamin could not get in, she made ready for bed.

She found it difficult to get to sleep. The words she had heard Benjamin say so dearly to that other woman angered and hurt her. She tossed and rolled about the big double bed irritably, waiting for Benjamin to come and try the door, fearing what would happen. Finally her frustrations exhausted her, and she fell into a fitful sleep. Luckily the bed broke her fall.

A loud pounding jolted her awake. She sat upright in bed and stared wide-eyed at the door that was shaking in its jamb. At first she thought it was a wild animal out there or a crazed madman. Then she realized she was right--it was Benjamin.

“Open this door!” he demanded loudly. Elizabeth cringed at the tone of his voice and knew everyone in the building could hear him. “Let me in!”

Terrified of what he would do if she let him in but equally terrified of what he would do if she didn’t, she sat immobile on the bed. Her mind darted quickly from one alternative to another, but still she did not move.

“Damn you, woman, open the door!” Benjamin roared. His assault on the door increased suddenly until she was afraid he would splinter it apart. She skittered across the room and removed the chair. With one thunderous blow, the door flew open and crashed against the wall, splintering wood where the knob hit. Elizabeth shrank back when she saw Benjamin’s huge dark form framed by the doorway. His shoulders heaved with his anger and exertion, and she thought for sure she was facing a madman. She slowly began to back away.

For a moment Benjamin didn’t move. Then he stepped into the room, slowly, deliberately. He stopped once to throw the door shut and pinpoint Elizabeth’s position on the other side of the bed, and then he came for her.

“Don’t come near me,” she said in a low voice. “Stay away.”

“You’re my wife!” he shouted, still coming closer. “Don’t you ever lock a door to me again!”

His voice and his angry, contorted face made her cringe closer against the wall. She feared for her very life now. As he came closer she could smell whiskey, and her fears grew. She had never seen him drunk before. She had never dreamed that he could have a side so different from the kind, gentle man she knew.

His huge form loomed above her as she crouched in the corner. He came and stood directly in front of her, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. For a brief second, time stood still as Benjamin’s eyes met and devoured Elizabeth’s, then he reached forward and grabbed her, pulling her violently to him.

A scream wrenched itself from her throat, but Benjamin pulled her roughly to his chest, knocking the wind out of her. Before she could gasp enough air to scream again, he had crushed her mouth with his and he kissed her brutally. Feeling his fingers bruising her flesh, she tried to struggle, but she could not fight him. Still silencing her with his possessive mouth, he pulled her off the floor and carried her to the bed.

With a rough shove, he threw her down, but before she could scramble away, he had fallen down on top of her. She tried to wriggle out from under him but he was too heavy. He imprisoned her with his arms and found her mouth again, his tongue invading in its intimate, penetrating way.

“Damn you, woman,” he muttered to her. “I’m tired of having you hold yourself away from me, tired of thinking about my own brother bedding you when you deny yourself to me. I won’t be denied again.”

He began to rip off the nightgown she had found, tearing it into small pieces while she tried vainly to get away. When he had her naked, he fumbled with his own clothes, still keeping his weight on her so she could not get away. Finally he was ready and he forced himself upon her with no preliminaries, no foreplay, no nothing. In her dry state

of fear, Elizabeth felt the pain that always seemed to be a part of Benjamin, and she choked on a scream that threatened to burst forth. He rode her roughly, savagely, with no love or tenderness like that she had scorned. Instead, he took what she would not give, and took it painfully. When he was done, he collapsed on top of her and fell almost instantly asleep.

Elizabeth lay there, bruised and aching, almost breathless from his weight on top of her, and with tears streaming down her cheeks. Pinned as she was, she could find no relief, but instead had to lay still and cry into the pool of her desolation. She did not remember when she fell asleep.

When Elizabeth awoke, the sun was streaming in through the windows and pooling on the floor, dripping a little over a chair. She looked about, reaffirming where she was, and stretched. It was then that she felt some soreness in her limbs and thought back to the savage assault she had undergone last night. Benjamin was gone, but when would he return?

She scrambled out of bed and dressed hurriedly, prodded by a fear that he would barge in before she was decently clothed. Luckily he didn’t and she had time to wash her face and brush her hair. When she was completely groomed and Benjamin still hadn’t come, she waited impatiently, then decided to descend to the common room. Gathering up all her courage, she went to the door and started down.

The common room was alive with the early morning hubbub, and Elizabeth had to scan the array of faces before she saw Benjamin’s. His eyes met hers and he motioned to her to join them. Elizabeth wondered at his apparent nonchalance.

As she neared the table she saw Trevor on the opposite side from Benjamin, and next to her husband sat a young woman, probably a year or two younger than herself. Remembering the endearing words she had heard outside the window last night, her blood began to boil. After all he’d done to her, he now had the audacity to bring this woman here?

She stopped beside the table and lifted her chin arrogantly. Immediately Benjamin stood and assisted her, then regained his seat between the two women. Apparently not noticing his wife’s coolness, he proceeded with introductions.

“Elizabeth, dear, I want you to meet a very special person,” he said. Elizabeth bristled, but Benjamin failed to see. “This is my sister, Christine. Christine, this is my new bride, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth picked her jaw up from the table where it had fallen and looked to the other girl. She smiled sweetly at Elizabeth.

“How do you do?” Christine said politely.

“You’re Benjamin’s sister?” she asked incredulously. She noted that Christine did have the dark hair and ice blue eyes of the Elliotts.

“My half-sister, actually,” Benjamin said. “When my mother died, my father remarried. We don’t usually consider ourselves half-siblings though. We’re much closer than that.” Benjamin put his arm around Christine’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. Elizabeth flinched. How did he mean that, she wondered.

“Christine brought me news of Franklin,” he continued. “He barely limped into port, but then he was never good in three-legged races. Christine said he was still making repairs when she left, but he had vowed to her that he would repay us for the humiliation he suffered at our hands.”

“Humiliation he suffered?” Elizabeth gasped.

“Yes, you know how twisted Franklin’s ego is.”

“I didn’t know you knew Latin,” Christine said to her brother.

“Yes, well, anyway,” Benjamin said, “he has vowed to meet us again and have his vengeance, so it would behoove you not to stray too far without an escort. As you know, Franklin is not above kidnapping.” Elizabeth digested that silently and agreed. She had seen Franklin aroused and that was frightening enough, but she imagined he was quite another thing when he was angry.

“Does he know where we are?” she asked.

“Probably. He has spies everywhere. He’s formed a group called the Countryman’s Investigative Association that he uses to keep track of law operations--and unlawful operations--in the areas he travels. I’m sure they keep track of us, too.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth said. The thought made her shudder. Would she never be safe?

“So,” Benjamin said, “I think the best thing to do is to push ahead to Paris. I promised that to you and I never break a promise. Are you ready?”

“Oh, yes!” said Elizabeth, taken by surprise. The seriousness of the conversation had clouded her mind of this brighter side.

“Good. Then eat your breakfast and we’ll go.” He motioned to the innkeeper to bring Elizabeth a plate of steaming breakfast and she ate heartily. While she finished, Benjamin sent Trevor out to get a coach and within the hour they were on their way to Paris.

Elizabeth was a little piqued when she realized Christine was going with them to Paris, but she was so excited about going at all that she held back her irritation. In the carriage, Benjamin took his seat beside her and across from Christine, so that reassured her slightly. She still wondered just how Christine figured into Benjamin’s life.

“Have you ever been to Paris?” Christine asked her.

“No,” Elizabeth said, not really wanting to talk.

“Oh, you’ll love it, then,” the younger girl gushed. “It’s such a stimulating experience the first time.”

“I’m sure I will,” Elizabeth said levelly. She glanced up at Benjamin and noticed him watching her. She decided she would have no choice but to put up with Christine as best she could. She could tell by Benjamin’s lifted eyebrow that he would brook no arrogance toward his sister.

“Have you been to Paris often?” she asked Christine.

“A few times,” the girl answered modestly. “Mother and I used to come here shopping on very special occasions. That was when Daddy ran the import business and he would bring us along. Since Mother died and Daddy retired, leaving the business to Benjamin, I haven’t been back for ages.”

Elizabeth listened politely, although her ears were attentive to every word. It was embarrassing to her that she knew so little of her husband’s life and family, and she could see that Christine could supply that information unknowingly. The younger girl probably assumed Elizabeth knew all about the Elliotts, yet she enjoyed talking and gossiping so she went into more detail than others would have. Elizabeth suddenly realized that, enigma that she was, Christine could very well be a help to her in straightening out her affairs.

“Christine can tell you where the good shops are in Paris,” Benjamin said.

“Oh, yes!” Christine said eagerly. “It will be such fun going shopping again. It’s invalidating just thinking about it.”

“Will I be allowed to buy some things?” Elizabeth asked quietly. As yet she had not seen a penny of the Elliott fortune and she had no money left of her own.

“Of course,” Benjamin replied, a little puzzled. “Trevor only said I could borrow those gowns. He wants them back as soon as possible.” Yes, of course, Elizabeth thought. But if all he was going to do was allow her to replace these drab coverings, what good would shopping in Paris do her? She sighed. Would she ever have a marriage in which

she was the beloved wife? Benjamin treated her with cool respect more often than not, until he got a bad case of the blue balls and then she was forced to play the whore to his humming instrument. And now that Christine had arrived, what would her own position be? She still wondered at the tender lover’s words she had heard them exchange. Was she now doomed to play the role of wife to an incestuous man?

These worries played on Elizabeth’s mind during the jouncing trip. At midday the carriage stopped at a roadside inn and they took their lunch there, then resumed their bumpy ride. Elizabeth found the going getting rougher as they went, until some of the bumps threw her off the cushioned seat altogether. On these stretches, her thigh would brush intimately against Benjamin’s and although he pretended not to notice, it had a disturbing effect on her. The hardness of his muscles could be felt through the thin material of her gown and seemed to send direct impulses through her body. Between that and the jolting, bouncing of the carriage, Elizabeth had no peace. That didn’t bother her as much as having no piece, but she forced the indecent thought down. Biting her

lip, she endured the remainder of the journey.

By dark, she was hungry again, but Benjamin made no move to halt the carriage for dinner. Instead, they bounced along for almost another hour and Elizabeth began to wonder if they would ever stop. Then suddenly Trevor’s voice bellowed out above them.

“Paris, ho!” he shouted.

“We’re not aboard ship anymore, Trevor,” Benjamin reminded him.

“So sorry, sir. The lights of Paris are ahead, sir.”

The three passengers craned their necks out the window and Elizabeth was awed by the spectacle before her. Lights like she had never seen lay across the countryside before her in all sizes and colors. Her breath caught in her throat at the expanse of it all, and she began to turn blue until Benjamin pounded her on the back.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Elizabeth wheezed. “It goes on forever!”

“Almost,” Christine laughed.

“But I never dreamed Paris was so expansive.”

“Oh, nothing’s cheap there,” Christine said, “and it extends for quite a ways too. Where are we heading for, Benjamin?”

“I’ve booked rooms for us at the Paris Hotel. They should be expecting us.”

“Oh, the Paris Hotel!” Christine squealed.

Elizabeth wondered what was so special about the Paris Hotel, but she was too stubborn to ask. Instead, she settled back against the seat and rode the rest of the way in silence.

When Trevor finally halted the carriage, the brilliance and sound of Paris was all about them. Elegant carriages, far more expensive than theirs, clattered down the streets and the air rang with high, excited voices. Elizabeth saw handsome dark faces glancing out of doorways and the strangely painted faces of women shining from windows. She felt excited yet uncomfortably out of her element as well. Plucking up her courage, she took Benjamin’s outstretched hand and climbed out of the carriage.

The hotel seemed to do a voluminous business, and Elizabeth found herself jostled as they went inside. Even dressed in her dreary gown, she noticed men’s heads turning and she realized her honey-blond hair was a rarity in this city of dark people. Men’s eyes roamed her body freely and rather than be intimidated, she held her chin high and walked on. As Benjamin made sure their reservations were in order, Elizabeth stood proud amid the throng until someone tried to cop a feel. Then she pressed closer to Benjamin and stayed beside him all the way up the grand staircase to their rooms.

They stopped at Christine’s suite first and Elizabeth could not help but be jealous of the grandeur of it. Plush rugs softened their footsteps while heavy, elaborate tapestries and brocaded draperies surrounded them. The room had an elegant vanity and wardrobe and a pearl encrusted chamber pot. The large bed had satin sheets and a gold lame bedspread. Elizabeth wondered again that Benjamin wanted so much for his sister and not for her.

Leaving Christine, the wedded couple went further down the hall and Benjamin unlocked another door. Sure that her quarters would not be as sumptuous as her sister-in-law’s, Elizabeth was surprised and aghast to see that hers were, if possible, more beautiful and expensive. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of heavy velvet drapes tied back with gold chains, gold-leafed statues of David and Venus, and a huge bed with a black and gold bedspread. To one side of the beautiful white and gold vanity was a chamber pot encrusted, not with pearls, but with diamonds.

“Surprised?” asked Benjamin.

“And aghast,” Elizabeth nodded. “All this for me?”

“Of course,” he replied quickly. “You don’t think I’d have anything but the best for my wife, do you?”

His strange emphasis on “my wife” made her glance at him questioningly. He seemed not to notice, though and smiled at her awe over the furnishings.

“I’ll leave you now to get freshened up. You look a little wilted after that journey. I’ve arranged a private dinner for the three of us down in the small dining room--nothing fancy, not this late. If you need anything, my room is right next door.” With that, he left.

Elizabeth wandered about the room for a few moments, taking in the grandeur of her surroundings. What was Benjamin’s game now? He saw to her every need--except one--with grace and generosity, yet took separate rooms. At first she was relieved that she would not have to endure his burning eyes on her flesh, but now that he was gone, she longed for his presence. And if she did not know Benjamin’s mind, she knew her own even less. She was still afraid and mistrustful of her husband and yet she had a growing desire to screw his brains out, too. What was this madness? Would she ever know? Would she be ready for dinner on time? Remembering about that, she went through

her careful ablutions and changed gowns. Feeling better but still apprehensive, she went downstairs and was directed to the small dining room.

It was huge, at least thirty feet wide and fifty feet long. She was amazed at the grandeur of it. Benjamin and Christine were already there and, she noticed, whispering fondly to each other.

They separated when she came in and each smiled at her, but she could not tell if they were smiles of friendship or plotting. She took her place across from Christine at the long laden table and sat with downcast eyes. Benjamin rang a bell and a serving girl appeared. At first Elizabeth paid little attention to the girl, then she noticed the way the servant seemed to hover around Benjamin .She looked closer and realized the girl was flirting, flaunting her abundant curves and swelling breasts. Elizabeth almost choked on her first sip of wine when she saw Benjamin’s eyes stray languidly across the girl’s bodice. How dare he be so bold as to leer at her in the presence of his wife? She was mad enough to throw her cooked pheasant at him, but restrained herself. Instead, she kept her eyes down on her plate and tried to eat without thinking about the spectacle at the end of the table.

“This pheasant is absolutely delicious,” she heard Christine say.

“Yes, it is,” Elizabeth murmured.

“I don’t see why it’s called foul. I think it’s very good.”

Elizabeth heard the servant girl giggle, but refused to look up. “Are we going shopping tomorrow, Christine?” she asked quickly.

“Of course!” the younger girl replied. “I can’t wait. You know, I was thinking, since you don’t have any clothes and you and Benjamin haven’t been married very long, why don’t we shop for a trousseau for you? You simply can’t start out being married with no clothes.”

“No, you can’t, can you?” Elizabeth agreed with a frown. And yet since her marriage and involvement with the Elliotts, she was without clothes more often than not.

On impulse, she glanced up at her husband and found him talking softly with the serving girl as she poured him more wine. A black rage came over her, but she quickly stifled it and looked away, but not before she saw Benjamin glance at her. He seemed to smirk at her, as if he would flaunt his infidelity, and she pushed her plate away in

annoyance. Suddenly she was no longer hungry. The idea of that girl being so bold and familiar with her husband was enough to make her sick.

Driven to the point of action, Elizabeth stood up and almost toppled her chair over backwards. Three pair of eyes swiveled toward her and she flushed angrily, sorry now that she had called attention to herself.

“I, uh, I’m not hungry,” she managed, looking over Christine’s head at the wall. “I’m going to turn in now. Goodnight.”

She took hold of herself by the arm and walked proudly toward the door. No one spoke until she had turned the handle. Then she heard Christine say, “What is she going to turn into?”

With the door of her room closed and locked behind her, she gave vent to her anger. At first she tried to control it, but it quickly grew beyond her limits, and she allowed it to overtake her. In a mad, violent rage, she began to stamp her feet and cry. Her anger grew even as she expressed it, and her tantrum expanded until finally, in one last explosive effort, she spit in the diamond-encrusted chamber pot. Then, spent at last, she collapsed on the bed in tears.

It wasn’t until quite a bit later that she awoke, still exhausted from her tirade. Then she realized that what woke her was a small tapping on her chamber door.

“Just the wind and nothing more,” she said to herself. But the tapping continued and became more insistent so she got out of bed and went to the door.

“Who is it?” she asked, not daring to unlock the door.

“It’s me,” Benjamin said. “Let me in.”

Elizabeth hesitated. He didn’t sound mad or drunk, but she remembered what happened the last time she locked a door against him. She didn’t know if he would make a scene like that in the Paris Hotel. Then she remembered the shameless way he had encouraged that serving girl all through dinner, almost caressing those flaunting breasts right in front of her, and she grew angry again. Her decision was made.

“No,” she said shortly. “Go away.”

“Let me in,” Benjamin said again. Elizabeth thought he was almost pleading.

“Go find your little whoring servant girl,” she said hotly, “and leave me alone!”

There was a silence outside the door, making her a little uneasy. What would he do now? But finally she thought she heard his bootfalls moving down the carpeted hall.

Relieved but somehow disappointed, too, she climbed back into bed and fell asleep.

CHAPTER 6

When the morning sun streamed through a slit in the draperies and fell across her face, Elizabeth stirred lazily. Feeling refreshed from her comfortable night’s sleep and excited by the idea of her first whole day in Paris, she got up and went through her toilet, although it was a tight fit. As she dressed, she wondered if she would have to go find

the others or if they would come for her. Curiously, there was a knock on the door just then.

“Come in,” she said from her vanity.

There was a tremendous crash against the door and the sound of silver falling.

“Oh my!” Elizabeth said. She jumped up and opened the door and found Trevor standing with a half upset breakfast tray, cream splattered all over his jacket and the carpet.

“Oh my!” she said again.

“The door was locked, madam,” Trevor said with a hint of disgust.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Trevor! Just bring the tray in and set it down. Let me get a wet cloth and get that cream off your jacket.”

Trevor stepped inside and set the tray on the vanity. Elizabeth went to wet a cloth so she could sponge the cream off his jacket, but he stopped her.

“I’ll go and order a new tray and change my jacket at the same time.” And he left.

Elizabeth mopped up the spilled cream and righted the toast that was upside down in a puddle of tea. She thought Trevor must be having a bad day.

“Good morning,” Benjamin said from behind her.

“Oh!” Elizabeth said. She whirled around to find her husband leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest and a mocking smile on his face.

“Well, it looks like someone is not having a good morning,” he said. “Either that or you eat breakfast rather sloppily.”

“Trevor had an accident,” she sniffed, piqued by his tone of voice.

“I would have thought he’d have outgrown that years ago.” Benjamin sauntered into the room and Elizabeth noticed the graceful way his muscled body moved. Mostly forward.

“But I didn’t come here to talk about Trevor,” he said, “ I came to talk about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I don’t like the way you’ve been sniveling around lately. Now I know you’ve had a rough time of it, but you’ve got to snap out of it. I don’t want to see you moping about anymore. I want to see you a little more cheerful and I don’t want to see you throwing any more tantrums.”

Elizabeth began to puff up with indignation and took in a gulp of air, ready to set Benjamin back on his heels.

“Before you open your pretty little mouth,” he went on, “ I want you to remember that I am your legal wedded husband and you are sworn to obey me. And if you think you can avoid me, just remember that last tavern we stayed in.”

Elizabeth remembered, and the breath went out of her.

“And also remember that it was your doing that brought me to your wedding bed when I was only minding my own business. So now,” he paused and looked at her sternly, “if you still think you want to behave childishly, you have been warned and you will be treated accordingly.”

Elizabeth stared at her husband a little incredulously, but his tone was too serious not to be recognized. Benjamin stood watching her, almost as if he waited to see what she would do, but finally she turned and resumed mopping up the cream.

Benjamin raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had actually expected her to explode like an enraged cat, so her docile resignation made him suspicious. He watched her as she cleaned, wondering what she was thinking.

“Ahem,” Trevor said from the doorway. The pair turned to face him and found him holding another tray and wearing a dark purple jacket with rhinestones sewn all along the lapel.

“Trevor,” Elizabeth said, “where did you get that jacket?” She pushed the old tray aside so he had room for the new one.

“It’s my lounging jacket,” Trevor sniffed. “It was the only one I had clean.”

“Thank you, Trevor,” Benjamin said. “After you tidy up my room why don’t you have your things cleaned.”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor said and left.

Elizabeth stared at the tray a moment in indecision, then decided to go ahead and eat something. Her day was already for shit and not eating would only make it worse. Timidly, she nibbled on a piece of toast.

To her surprise, Benjamin leaned toward her and poured her a cup of tea. She did not risk looking at him, but instead accepted the tea with a polite murmur. Benjamin propped himself up against the vanity and watched with arms crossed as she ate.

When she had had her fill and washed it down with the fragrant French tea, she still avoided her husband’s eyes, fearful of another confrontation. Benjamin seemed to wait for a moment, then finally lifted her chin with a finger.

“Now that we understand each other, I want you to go shopping with Christine.”

Elizabeth nodded, thinking how depressing to watch her sister-in-law buy expensive clothes when she had nothing, but she had no thoughts of rebelling. After all, she had no cause.

“And I want you to buy yourself a suitable wardrobe for an importer’s wife.”

She looked up at him, blinking in surprise. “What?” she asked. Benjamin’s handsome mouth twitched in a smile.

“I said I want you to buy yourself a complete wardrobe. Trevor wants his gowns back and you must have clothes. Get yourself everything you need--day dresses, evening gowns, slippers, gloves, underthings, catsuits, whatever you want.”

“But Benjamin,” she said, “ I can’t do that! That will be very expensive.”

“So? It’s my money and you are my wife. I want to see you dressed in a way that shows off your beauty.” He came close to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You are much too beautiful to cover up.”

He came close to her and for a moment Elizabeth thought he was going to kiss her. She felt his hot breath on her cheek and it sent tingles down her spine, and she would have gladly yielded to his kiss, but he drew away from her and left her trembling.

“So,” Benjamin said, “Trevor will go with you and keep the accounts in order, so all I want you to concern yourself with is picking out things. I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Just buy whatever I want?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, whatever you want.” He smiled at her surprise. She reminded him of a little girl who’d been told she was going to the circus. Except her throbbing breasts didn’t remind him of a little girl. Taking hold of himself, he turned brusquely for the door.

“Benjamin,” she asked, “why did you take hold of yourself like that and turn brusquely for the door?”

“Never mind,” he said. He let go of himself and turned back with his hand on the doorknob. “You go ahead and go shopping. Trevor will be back shortly.” And he left.

Feeling lighter than she had in days, she combed her hair and made ready to go. Maybe Benjamin did have some feeling for her after all, she thought. Maybe her marriage wasn’t a sham. Maybe her life would not end in misery. She hummed happily as she waited for Trevor.

The three of them made their way down the busy streets of Paris, Christine leading Elizabeth impatiently and Trevor bringing up the rear, trying very hard not to look as though he belonged to them. Elizabeth could not help stopping periodically to stare at the wonders around her. She thought Paris the most beautiful city in the world.

Christine led the trio into shop after shop and the two women scrambled like children through the clothes. They tried on taffetas and velvets and silks and satins, each more scrumptious than the last. Laughing and giggling, they complimented one another and each chose several gowns. By noon, Trevor had had to order a carriage to drive along side with all their boxes in it.

They stopped at an open-air cafe for lunch while Trevor excused himself to take the packages back to the hotel. Elizabeth was extremely happy.

“Isn’t it wonderful that Benjamin let us do this?” she gushed. Christine looked at Elizabeth closely, noting her sister-in-law’s bright eyes.

“You love my brother very much, don’t you?” she asked.

Elizabeth’s smile faded. Love Benjamin? Did she? She wasn’t sure. But of course all Christine could see was a happily wedded couple.

“Yes,” she murmured, and dove hungrily into her lunch. Luckily Christine noticed her embarrassment and did not pursue the subject.

After lunch they continued on their excursions and before the afternoon was out had outfitted Elizabeth with everything she would need. They bought gowns and slippers and gloves and corsets and chemises and plunging bras and crotchless panties. For all her wealthy upbringing, she had never felt so fully pampered.

As they rode home in the chartered carriage, tired and spent, Elizabeth had time to reflect. It was difficult without a mirror handy, but she did anyway. She asked herself again if she could really be in love with her own husband. Had she fallen under the spell of his piercing eyes and probing hands and not even known it? Almost instantly her body responded to her mind’s thoughts, and she felt a flush over her body. Wiping the drops off, she glanced quickly at Christine to see if the younger girl had noticed her quickened breathing, but luckily she had not. Elizabeth forced herself to be calm.

She quickly came to a decision. She did love Benjamin, and she would tell him--and show him--tonight! She ran through the items she had bought quickly in her mind, trying to decide what to wear. Tonight she would not only show Benjamin how she loved him, but she would drive him insane with desire for her. Tonight her marriage would begin as it should have weeks ago.

Smiling secretly to herself, she followed Trevor up the stairs to her room at the hotel. He had packages piled high above his head and could not see where he was going, and he mumbled and cursed continually. When he had kicked open the door of her room and dumped the boxes unceremoniously on her bed, he threw one last disgusting look and walked out. Elizabeth hoped that one day he would find true love, too.

Before she had a chance to unpack it all and hang up the gowns, a knock sounded on the door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Me,” Benjamin said. “May I come in?”

“Oh!” she said, looking about. She made sure the gown she planned to wear tonight was not out so he could see it. “Yes, come in.”

She became suddenly shy when her husband walked in, and she knew she was blushing like a schoolgirl. Luckily Benjamin didn’t seem to notice, but glanced instead at the boxes and packages scattered all over the bed.

“So,” he said, “it looks like you found a few things that pleased you.” Elizabeth heard the pleased note in his voice.

“Oh, yes!” she said. Suddenly wanting to show him her new wardrobe, she began to tear through the packages, holding up articles for him to see.

“I got these gloves and this gown and this hat and this gown....” She held up one thing after another before Benjamin had a chance to see and he laughed at her pleasure.

“Whoa!” he said. “I’m sure I will see it all in due time, love.” Feeling embarrassed, she stopped waving clothes around and walked slowly over to Benjamin.

“Benjamin,” she said, “I’m sorry for all the terrible things I’ve done. You’ve been so nice to me and I’ve acted so awful. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” She waved a hand to indicate the clothes.

“Yes, you have been a disagreeable little bitch,” he said. Elizabeth’s face fell. “But pick your face up, I forgive you.” He circled her with his arms and pulled her over to him. She felt his breath warm on her face. “I hoped that if I treated you more like a wife you would act more like a wife. It seems I was right.” Elizabeth blushed again and Benjamin leaned down to kiss her. His lips were gentle on hers, and softly insistent. She felt a trembling warmth spread through her body and she would have willingly succumbed to him right then before dinner. It startled her when he put her away from him.

“I think perhaps it’s time to get ready for dinner,” he said. “Although I think I would much rather eat in tonight, I’ve arranged for us to go out. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”

“Yes,” she said dutifully.

“Good. I’ll stop by to collect you then.” He looked as though he would like to kiss her again, but instead just smiled and walked to the door.

In a glow of happiness, Elizabeth made herself ready for dinner. She powdered and perfumed her body and dressed her hair so her golden curls gleamed. Finally she took out the dress she had bought and put it on.

She stared critically at her image in the mirror, turning this way and that. The dress was a dark sea green, but of a fabric that shone and seemed to change color like a living thing. It had a low rounded neckline that barely veiled her voluptuous charms and framed her soft throat in a dazzling display. The rest of the gown fit snugly against the curves of her body, showing off her ripening womanhood. The narrow straps of the gown rode off her shoulders, hinting at the ease with which she might be persuaded to remove the gown altogether. She decided she presented a suitably desirable picture for Benjamin’s eyes and hoped it would have the right effect.

When Benjamin knocked again, she decided not to invite him in but let him wait for a moment outside the door. Finally she draped a loose knit shawl of a matching color over her shoulders and opened the door.

It had the desired effect. Benjamin’s eyes fell out of his head. When he put them back in, he regained his composure enough to offer his arm to her.

“You look, uh, lovely,” he said. His eyes swept meaningfully over her swelling curves, and Elizabeth knew he would not be leaving her side tonight. She wondered if his arm was actually trembling or if that was her own shaking.

“Thank you,” she said coyly, as if she were not aware of the fact. She could feel Benjamin’s hot breath on her cheek and she knew his eyes were glued to her bodice. Luckily they didn’t have epoxy back then.

Together the pair walked down the hall to knock at Christine’s door.

“Just a minute,” she called. They waited for several minutes, Benjamin drinking in the sight of Elizabeth’s tender flesh and Elizabeth trying to control her breathing lest she erupt from her gown.

Finally Christine’s door opened. “I’m ready,” she said happily. She flowed out in a flurry of pink taffeta and mountains of petticoats, looking charmingly girlish next to Elizabeth. The two girls smiled at each other.

“Well,” Benjamin said, offering one arm to each. “I don’t think I have ever been in such beautiful company before. I am sure I will be the envy of every man in Paris tonight.”

The trio descended the stairs amid the bustle of the lobby and although people hurried about as usual, all heads turned. Elizabeth burned inside, casting her eyes down and wondering now what possessed her to dress so flagrantly. Christine’s jewel-necked dress was much more modest and attracted much fewer stares. Gathering her courage, Elizabeth lifted her eyes and head and strode proudly next to her husband.

Trevor ordered a carriage and it arrived duly. Benjamin handed the girls inside, then climbed in beside Elizabeth, sitting very tall next to her. She thought he must be feeling proud of her, but actually he was just trying to see down her dress. With Trevor up on the box, the carriage lurched out into the street.

The streets were all gaily lit and people hustled and bustled about the streets and sidewalks. Elizabeth wondered if Paris were so alive every night. It was such a contrast to the painfully correct nightlife of England. The liveliness infected her, and she found herself smiling and humming.

When the carriage rolled to a stop, Benjamin immediately hopped out and handed the girls down. The front of the restaurant was strangely bare, giving no indication of the type of establishment inside. Linking arms again, the trio went inside.

Elizabeth felt almost blind because the interior was so dark. She kept close to Benjamin, peering dimly about. Then she heard Benjamin speak quietly in French and she sensed rather than saw a figure beside her.

“The maitre’d will seat us,” Benjamin said for the benefit of the girls.

Suddenly Elizabeth felt a hand close around the firm cone of her breast and she squealed frantically. The hand quickly removed itself and she heard a flood of French.

“Oh,” she heard Benjamin say. Then to her, “Sorry, chap thought he had your elbow.”

Still shaking, Elizabeth held out her elbow to the presence next to her and felt a light hand take it pensively. By now her eyes were becoming used to the light and she was able to avoid the tables as the waiter led them to a shadowed corner. Regaining her composure, Elizabeth was able to smile feebly at the Frenchman as he seated her.

When all three were seated, the waiter left to bring some wine. Elizabeth took the time to glance about, wanting to see everything in the restaurant. Each table was lit only with a half gutted candle so the light was very faint, but she was amazed at how much richness and beauty the subtle lighting hid. At each table were the best dressed, most important people she had ever seen. She saw men with rich velvet jackets and diamond stickpins and woman dressed in sumptuous gowns and trimmed in jewels. The display was dazzling and Elizabeth knew that, despite the plain exterior of the place, it was obviously the swankest restaurant in Paris.

“Would you care for some wine?” Benjamin asked the girls. They both said yes and Benjamin ordered, speaking crisply in French. With the wine, the waiter brought menus and Elizabeth glanced at it apprehensively.

“Benjamin,” she said in a low voice, “I don’t know what any of this is. I can’t read French.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. His eyes, she noticed, kept returning to her heaving bosom. “I’ll order for two.”

“What?” Elizabeth asked.

“I mean, I’ll order for both of us.” He quickly signaled for a waiter.

While they sipped their wine, Elizabeth took the time to glance around her again. She was still amazed at the luxury of the people and their surroundings .She began to feel uneasy, though, when she noticed so many of the men looking her way. It seemed that every table had at least one pair of smoldering eyes that were focused on her. She only saw one man who was not staring at her, and he was busy with one hand under the tablecloth. She was about to ask Benjamin what he was doing until she saw the smile on his escort’s face.

When the food arrived, it was something Elizabeth had never seen before. Both Benjamin and Christine began to eat immediately, so rather than look prudish, Elizabeth ate, also. It was an odd texture, but not unpleasant and the flavor was interesting if not delicious. Feeling heartened, she ate with as much vigor as her husband and sister-in-law.

“Isn’t this delicious?” Christine asked.

“Yes, it is,” Elizabeth answered around a mouthful. “What is it?” The French name meant nothing to her, so she asked for a translation.

“Have you ever heard of mountain oysters?” Benjamin asked. Elizabeth’s face blanched.

“Don’t be silly, Benjamin,” Christine said. “There are no oysters in the mountains. Oysters come from the ocean.”

“Are these...?” Elizabeth couldn’t ask.

“Benjamin is being silly,” Christine said. “These aren’t oysters. This is beef of some sort. A real delicacy here in Paris.” Satisfied that she had cleared the misunderstanding, Christine resumed eating.

“Wine, my dear?” Benjamin asked.

“Please,” Elizabeth managed to gulp. She held her glass out and Benjamin filled it half full. When Elizabeth didn’t remove her glass, he eyed her curiously, then filled it to the brim.

If this doesn’t get the taste out of my mouth, Elizabeth thought, nothing will. She downed half the glass in one gulp and shuddered as it went down. Knowing that Benjamin was watching her, she finished the whole glass and held it out to him for more.

While Benjamin and Christine ate heartily, Elizabeth toyed with her food and tried not to barf. She drank a great quantity of wine, more than she normally would, and felt it seeping throughout her body. By the time the plates were taken away, she could see two Benjamins smiling mockingly at her.

“Would you care for dessert?” he asked. At her hesitation, he laughed. “Don’t worry. Dessert is not quite the ‘delicacy’ dinner was. You’ll enjoy it.”

Doubtful, but not wanting to cause a stir, she agreed to the dessert. When it came, it was a flaming dish of some luscious fruit in a hot rum sauce and she found it delicious. After all, she thought, what could they do to dessert?

When they had finished, Elizabeth found she was full enough, although mostly of wine. They rose to go and for a moment she felt her knees start to buckle. Before she could sit down again, Benjamin was there holding her. His arms were like steel bands around her, and she felt immediately more secure.

“Are you all right?” he asked huskily against her ear. His breath was warm on her cheek and she could smell the wine he had toasted her with.

“I think so,” she said. Her legs seemed to solidify momentarily, but a peculiar buzzing sounded in her ears. “I’m afraid I did have too much wine,” she apologized.

“I think we’d better get you home,” Benjamin laughed. With one arm protectively around her and one hand holding hers, he led her out into the cool night air.

“But Benjamin,” Christine wailed as they got into the carriage, “you promised we could go out and see Paris. You said we could go to shows and go dancing. Benjamin, you promised.”

“Elizabeth is in no shape to go dancing,” Benjamin said. But he had promised. “I’ll tell you what, Christine. Trevor will go out with you. He’s been to Paris before and I’m sure he can show you the sights.”

“Trevor?” Christine asked. The valet looked at her with a painful expression on his face, then shrugged. “Oh, goody!” Christine said.

Benjamin held Elizabeth close to him on the way home. Her head was reeling so much she had difficulty differentiating between the moving scenery outside and the blurring motion inside the carriage. Rather than bother with it, she allowed herself to rest contentedly against Benjamin’s strong shoulder.

The carriage pulled up to the hotel, and Benjamin helped Elizabeth out and upstairs. Christine was happy enough to go off with Trevor to do the town.

“I’m sorry I drank so much,” Elizabeth apologized. “I don’t usually do that. I’m really not used to drinking all that much.”

“That’s all right,” Benjamin said. “I didn’t really want to go out anyway. I’d much rather just relax and stay in tonight.”

“I’m glad you’re not angry with me,” she said.

Holding her gently, Benjamin led her up the stairs and to her room. He unlocked the door and led her inside where she gratefully collapsed on the bed.

“My body won’t do what I want it to do,” she said piteously. “I can’t even unbutton my gown.”

“Allow me,” Benjamin said. He sat beside her on the bed, and Elizabeth inadvertently rolled toward him. With deft fingers, he undid all the tiny buttons on the back of the gown until he revealed a startling vee of satiny flesh that begged for his caress. His fingers burned for her, and he reached down to stroke her lovely skin.

“Thank you, Benjamin,” she said, rolling over on her back. With her buttons undone, her dress loosened in the front and the magnificent swell of her breasts welled up toward Benjamin’s burning fingers. He fairly ached for her and her half closed, dreamy eyes only enhanced the vision before him.

Unable to hold himself in check any longer, he slid one trembling hand beneath the material of her bodice and his lips seared her tender flesh. She stiffened involuntarily and a small cry of passion escaped her lips. Her response only aroused him more, and he plunged on, drawing her gown down off the rounded mounds of her breasts.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” he breathed. “I’ve been so hungry for you.” He kissed her again, sending small shivers of delight through her body. “I’ve also hungered for a hot fudge sundae, but not as much as for you. I want you--now!”

He brought his lips down hard on hers, bruising her tender mouth, ravaging it in his passion. Elizabeth was taken unaware by his sudden assault but responded quickly. Feeling the warmth of the wine within her and the heat of Benjamin’s hands without, she melted in his arms. Her flesh burned and tingled, and her mind swam.

“Let me help you out of this,” Benjamin said passionately and ripped her gown deftly from her body. She lay quivering beneath his gaze, her chemise barely veiling her voluptuous body. He stared at her almost in awe.

“Aw,” he said, “you’re beautiful.” With loving hands he tore her chemise off and stood up to get off his own clothes. Elizabeth lay as if in a dream, watching this beautiful specimen of manhood--her husband--coming back to her. Their bodies met in an ever- heightening build of passion, the tactile impulses driving them to undreamed of sensations. Benjamin kissed and caressed every inch of her body and she reciprocated in kind. Together they explored every facet of physical love, finally exploding in a violent crescendo of fulfillment. When at last they lay spent in each other’s arms, Elizabeth thought she had died and gone to heaven. Except she decided if she had gone to heaven, her fern wouldn’t be so sore.

Lying contentedly in the bed, the couple slept peacefully.

CHAPTER 7

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, she was alone. She ran her hand over the cool place in the bed where Benjamin had lain and wondered what he had thought this morning when he awoke. Was he glad? Mad? Sad? Would he know it was only the wine that drove her into his arms?

Lying in the bed languidly, she wondered what today would bring. Perhaps today would be the beginning of a new life for her.

Suddenly a knock sounded on the door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“It’s me,” Christine said, bursting into the room. She came and sat at the foot of the bed, her face a maze of emotions.

“I think Benjamin’s found out something about Franklin,” she said excitedly. Elizabeth sat upright in bed, her ears pricked. Benjamin hadn’t missed a trick last night.

“Why?” she asked.

“Well, he said we’re to sail to England and wait for him. He’s got something important to do here on the continent.”

“What?” Elizabeth almost screamed. Would she never have a normal life? Would she never know the contentment of seeing her husband every day like most women? Would she never stop asking stupid questions?

“That’s right,” Christine said. “Trevor is to come for us in an hour and take us and our trunks to the ship. I should think whatever Benjamin is doing, it must be dangerous or he wouldn’t want us to leave so quickly.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed numbly. Or was it that he had no wish to see her again after the shameless way she acted last night? She felt like she wanted to die. She was no better off now than when this whole mess had started.

“Do you want me to help you pack?” Christine asked cheerfully.

“All right,” Elizabeth said. She was too dismayed to do anything else, so while she dazedly placed one or two things in her trunk, Christine folded and packed the rest of her new clothes.

“What about this?” Christine asked, holding up the gown Elizabeth had worn last night. It was ripped all the way to the hem, with pieces of her chemise along with it.

“Throw it away,” Elizabeth said through clenched teeth. Shrugging, Christine left it in a heap on the floor.

In an hour’s time, the two women were being bounced along the road by Trevor’s expert handling of the horses. Elizabeth was too shattered to think of much, but Christine chattered incessantly and didn’t require many responses. Elizabeth stared forlornly out the window as the French scenery sped by and wondered if she would ever see Benjamin again. How ironic that when she finally realized she loved her husband, he should send her away. Perhaps she had been born under a dark star and was never to be happy.

The day passed in a blur of rolling pastureland and peasants shoveling sheep shit. When they paused at a wayside inn for dinner and lodging, Elizabeth walked into the lodge and settled beside Christine at a table. Trevor signaled for food to be brought and a fat man with a curling mustache brought steaming bowls of thick stew. The food was good but Elizabeth barely noticed.

When they had eaten, Trevor showed them upstairs to their rooms. Christine had the room at the end of the hall overlooking the back of the inn, and Elizabeth was situated in the front room right off the stairs. She undressed and slid between the sheets of her plain bed, dreaming achingly of the night before.

In the still of the night, or thereabouts, a quiet knock roused her from sleep. She lay still a moment wondering who would knock on her door so late. If only it were Benjamin. But no, she knew it was not. She got up and pulled a thin night robe on, realizing it was probably Christine who wanted to talk.

She unlocked the door and swung it open to see a dark shape in the hall and the smell of alcohol almost knocked her over. Before she could slam the door shut again a grimy hand flashed out and clutched at the wrapped neck of her gown, dragging the thin material until it fell open away from her body. Her charms spilled out free of the constricting fabric and panic seized her. The man would have seized her, too, but panic got there first and she screamed. Suddenly lights were flickering on and doors were opening and the stranger took flight down the stairs.

“What is it, madam?” Trevor asked. He held a lamp up, the wavering yellow light showing his tired and somewhat exasperated face. He eyed her torn gown and swelling breasts disgustedly.

“There was a man,” she panted, “and he attacked me! He went down the stairs. If you hurry you can still catch him.”

Trevor glanced disdainfully toward the stairs and then back to Elizabeth. He scrutinized her as if she might be lying and she angrily drew herself up in defiance.

“Oh, all right,” Trevor said, and began to walk very slowly down the stairs.

Elizabeth was infuriated by Trevor’s lack of speed and vowed that she would remark to Benjamin about it. He really was a very poor bodyguard. Then she turned about to go back in her room only to find the hall filled with men, staring longingly at the voluptuous spheres of her breasts. Thinking quickly, she pulled her wrap close about her and disappeared inside the room. She barred the door heavily and fell back into bed.

What was happening to her? Last night she had been dressed in beautiful clothes, wined and dined at the most exclusive place in Paris, ogled by hundreds of prominent men and still protected by Benjamin’s warm presence. Tonight she was housed and fed in a roadside inn and attacked by thieves and rapists, surrounded by the dregs of society. It was too much for a well-bred lady to bear. She smothered her face in her pillow and cried.

The next morning, Trevor knocked briskly on her door to awaken her and after breakfast they set out once again. Elizabeth was still feeling morose and the journey was again very boring to her. Christine chattered on.

“When we get back to England we will have to go visit Lord Glastonbury. He has a wonderful estate in Cornwall, and he’s handsome. Maybe we can persuade him to have a party for you and Benjamin, sort of a coming out, what?” When she received no answer

she plunged on. “The things we bought in Paris will be so envied in England. All the women will be blue with jealousy.”

“Green,” Elizabeth said.

“What?”

“Green with jealousy.”

“Oh, yes, green. Well, anyway, won’t it be marvelous? There’re a few women I’ll just adore making jealous. Say, look at those funny men.”

“What men?” Elizabeth asked disinterestedly.

“Those funny looking men riding toward us. With black masks on.”

“What?” Elizabeth almost screamed. She looked out the window to see four masked men riding hard and fast toward the coach, black capes flying out behind them.

“Highwaymen!” Elizabeth said. She rapped her riding crop on the outside of the coach. “Trevor, highwaymen! We must run for our lives!”

In answer, the coach lunged forward and Elizabeth smashed her head against the back wall. The horses responded to Trevor’s whip and thundered down the road, sending mud and dirt flying from their hooves. The carriage rocked unsteadily, but with all their speed, Elizabeth saw that they weren’t losing the bandits. The men rode as hard as they could, their horses taking leaping strides to keep up with the coach. Then suddenly Elizabeth was almost thrown forward as the horses pulled to a screeching halt.

“Trevor!” she screamed. “Why are we stopping? Ride on, before those cutthroats catch up to us!”

“Sorry, madam,” Trevor sniffed. “There’s one blocking the road.”

“Well, ride over him!”

“Sorry, madam,” Trevor said. “He has a pistol leveled at me.” Elizabeth watched in dismay as the riders bore down on the carriage. The masked men assembled in front of the door and a large burly man came forward.

“Everybody out!” he commanded.

Quaking with fear, Elizabeth and Christine emerged from the carriage. Christine clutched her purse to her breast and was already whimpering over the loss of her new jewelry. The headman strode over to her and snatched her purse away, leaving Christine crying. The man then turned to Elizabeth.

“And what do you have of value?” he sneered.

“Nothing that I would let your filthy hands touch,” Elizabeth retorted. Her emerald eyes flashed in anger. She had had too much put upon her and would not take any more. If she must live as a shut-in wife and never see Benjamin again, at least she would have her dignity.

“Oh, is that right?” the masked man said. He stepped so close that Elizabeth could smell the ale on his breath. “We’ll see about that.” He reached out a dirty, gnarled hand and grabbed her chin roughly. Holding her firmly, he surveyed the beautiful face while Elizabeth tried to pull away. Finally she spat in his face and he let go.

“You’ll be sorry for that,” the man said. He swung his fist around and clouted her on the chin, sending her sprawling on the dirty ground. Dizzy from the blow, she lay still for a moment.

“All right, Fancy Dan!” the man said to Trevor. “Hand me over that watch there, and that stick pin, too.”

“Well, I never!” Trevor said. Sniffing loudly, he handed over the items.

“You got anything else pretty on you?” the highwayman asked. He jerked Trevor’s coat open and turned out his pockets. A glitter of gold fell out of one. “Here, what’s this?” The man picked up a pair of gold earrings with mother-of-pearl and amethyst inlaid in the glittering clips.

“Well, well,” the man sneered. “Ain’t these nice?” He pocketed the earrings and moved back away from Trevor. “Okay, you two!” he said, “Get back in the carriage and head out.”

“But, but, what about Elizabeth?” Christine wailed. “We can’t leave Elizabeth!”

“Yes, you can,” the highwayman laughed. “Get in the coach afore I help you in!” He produced a wicked looking pistol and brandished it about. Trevor hopped up on the box immediately and then Christine climbed inside. Looking about fearfully, the pair set out on the road again.

Elizabeth still lay on the ground, looking about with her mouth open. Her anger had been replaced by fear and now she was terrified of what would be done to her. As the coach drew away, four pair of eyes turned toward her and she shrank back.

“Here, now,” the leader said, “don’t go looking like a scared rabbit. The only reason I kept you was because you had some fire in you.” He strode over to her, his big belly shaking and a grin cracking his dirty face.

Well, Elizabeth thought, if I must die at least I’ll die with dignity.

Before the man could reach for her she jumped up away from him.

“Don’t touch me,” she said. “Stay away.”

The man laughed and closed in on her. “Come on, me beauty, you’re fair loot and I’ve claimed you, so don’t give me a fight. You’ll keep my bed warmer than that yellow mongrel I’ve got now.”

With speed Elizabeth had not thought he had, the man reached out and grabbed her wrist. She twisted and pulled away but to no avail. The man dragged her to him and wrapped his other arm around her, planting a wet kiss on her tender lips. Elizabeth thought she was going to barf, which wouldn’t have been a bad idea. Instead, she struggled vainly against the man’s chest while he laughed at her.

“Come on, Moe,” one of the other highwaymen said. “Let’s get back to camp.”

“Oh, all right,” Moe said. He dragged Elizabeth to his horse and pulled her up in front of him. While she was forced to lean back against him, she hated any contact and her flesh crawled at his hand at her waist. They started out and his hand crept up to fondle her heaving breast and she thought she would scream. The thought of this vile, filthy man caressing her unblemished flesh drove her to distraction, and besides, he was letting a draft down her dress.

They rode for hours. The countryside all seemed the same to Elizabeth as they rode, stretching into endless fields. Occasionally they passed peasants, but the men never rode close enough for Elizabeth to scream for help. They rode until she thought she would drop off the saddle from exhaustion, and she wondered if her nipples would be permanently erect from all the fondling they’d received. Darkness fell, and she was afraid they would ride all night, but then that was probably better than stopping for the night.

Two hours after dark, they entered a forest and slowed down. The riders picked their way through the trees. Elizabeth didn’t know where they were going, and she was too tired to care, so she dropped her head and stared down at the ground. She just hoped that if they killed her they would do it quickly.

When Moe drew rein and stopped, it jarred Elizabeth out of her drowsiness. She looked around and saw a shabby camp with a tiny smokeless fire. There were a few pieces of clothing tossed across the bushes and a blanket laid here and there around the fire. At first she thought the camp was empty, but then one of the blankets began to move.

“Lindy!” Moe cried. “Up, girl! We want food after our long ride.” He slid down off his horse, carrying Elizabeth with him. She had hoped to be free of his grimy hands, but he kept one paw on her all the time. She wondered with a shudder if his foreskin was as dirty as his fingernails.

“Lindy!” Moe bellowed. The blanket was thrown back at the sound of his enraged voice and a thin, dirty girl stood up. Her hair hung in strings about her face and her bony frame was barely covered with filthy rags. Elizabeth could almost see lice crawling on her. She was a real dog.

“Get us some dinner, girl,” Moe ordered. He planted a wet sloppy kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek and sent her sprawling toward the fire. “And show Blue Stockings here what you’re doing so she can help next time.”

Lindy stood staring angrily at Elizabeth while she stood up and brushed the dirt from her dress. The skinny girl spat uncomfortably close to Elizabeth’s booted foot, then began to rummage in a rucksack. She ignored the rucks but pulled out a large pan and put some green tinged meat into it over the fire. Then she pulled out some crusty dough and threw some of it alongside the meat, picking a weevil from it as it cooked. Elizabeth felt sick. The skinny girl leered at her from behind her stringy, unruly hair, and Elizabeth could see blackened stumps where her teeth should have been. She shuddered again.

“Here,” Lindy said, shoving a pot at Elizabeth. “Make some coffee.” Lindy threw a bag at her, but Elizabeth failed to catch it and the coarse coffee spilled on the ground. “Look what you’ve done,” Lindy cackled. “I’m going to tell Moe you spilled the coffee and see how he likes that.”

Elizabeth scooped up as much coffee as she could manage in the weak firelight, thinking she was probably putting as much dirt in the sack as coffee. Finally she poured some into the pot and added enough water to almost fill it. She sat the pot on a rock close in by the fire and wondered if Moe would beat her for wasting coffee or for putting dirt in the pot.

“Moe is my man,” Lindy said suddenly. She glared at Elizabeth threateningly.

“That’s fine with me,” Elizabeth said. She was tired of these filthy people. “I don’t like his dirty hands on me anyway.”

Almost before the words were out of her mouth, Elizabeth was horrified to see Lindy leaping toward her with an infuriated snarl on her face. The wench landed squarely on Elizabeth, kicking and clawing and spitting like a cat. Elizabeth tried to keep her off, but Lindy was quick and used to fighting and had torn Elizabeth’s gown before anything could be done. Finally Elizabeth took hold of Lindy’s straggly hair and yanked it until she pulled the girl’s head back and her Adam’s apple stuck out.

“Here, now!” Moe cried suddenly. The men had run up and began to drag the girls apart. Moe pulled Elizabeth to her feet while the other stood Lindy up. Lindy tried to lunge at Elizabeth again, but the men held her back.

“There’ll be no more of this,” Moe said. He looked pointedly at Lindy. “You girls are going to have to get along. And you, Lindy, can move your blanket over by Larry’s.”

Lindy’s face fell at his words. Before the entire group she had been demoted, pushed aside, aced out. Her anger flared in her eyes when she looked again at Elizabeth.

“You’ll pay for this,” she spat. “You’ll be sorry you ever set foot in this camp.” Elizabeth knew by Lindy’s twisted face that every word she snarled was true.

After the men had eaten their dinner, they sat around the fire and smoked and drank coffee.

“Best coffee I’ve ever tasted, “ Moe said to Elizabeth.

“She spilled it all over the ground,” Lindy snapped. Moe stared at her threateningly.

“If you want to save your skin, you’d best teach the girl not to be wasteful,” he said to her. “It’ll be up to you to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Lindy sulked.

Moe pulled Elizabeth close beside him and offered her some of his coffee. She shook her head and remained staring into the fire. Moe’s hand rubbed her arm and toyed with the shreds of material Lindy had ripped away from her gown. Elizabeth was painfully aware that the swelling roundness of her breasts lay exposed to Moe’s wandering eyes, but she was afraid that any effort to cover herself would result in an active assault. Instead, she suffered his hand tantalizingly close to her tender flesh and prayed when he made his bed he would command Lindy to lie in it instead of her.

Her prayers were not answered. When the men had said their goodnights and squeezed the last burp out, Moe pulled Elizabeth over to his filthy blanket and shoved her down on it. Her eyes grew wide as, with a horrible grin, he began to tear his own clothes off. She gasped in shock as Moe’s hairy body was revealed and his ugly purple trouser snake advanced toward her. She fell back on the blanket, terrified of the huge dark shaft that threatened her.

Suddenly a cry went up and there was a sound of hoof beats and thrashing bushes. Moe jumped back away from Elizabeth, facing whatever it was that was thundering through the forest.

“Curly!” he bellowed, “Larry! My sword!”

He waited impatiently while the other two men disentangled themselves from the orifices of Lindy and pulled their pants on. Finally one clawed around until he found Moe’s sword--his fighting sword--and tossed it to him. By the time the avenging horseman burst through the bushes, all three men stood ready at arms.

Elizabeth was startled to see a huge black horse erupt from the darkness with a small black clad figure on its back. The rider whipped out a sword and cut down Larry in one swell foop. Curly was a better swordsman and the stranger parried and thrust until he found an unguarded spot, then drove his blade home.

“All right, you,” Moe screamed. “You’ve killed my men but you won’t kill me. Come on, you coward! Let’s see how you fence against a real swordsman.”

Moe jumped up and down, his swords waving as he yelled, one flashing in the dim firelight and one swaying darkly. Elizabeth was afraid he would have the stranger’s head before the night was through, but maybe that would be better than her giving him head.

“So you’re a real swordsman, are you?” the dark rider asked.

“Yes!” boasted Moe. “Come on and kill me if you can!”

He stood facing the stranger, waiting for the charge. Instead, a blast ripped the air, and Moe was hurtled backward by a pistol ball that took him squarely in the stomach. Elizabeth watched horrified as he lay in his death throes, his wanger gone suddenly very limp.

“Come on!” shouted the rider to her. He sheathed his pistol and sword and leaned down to pull her up behind him. Neither one of them looked back at the disheveled camp as they crashed through the bushes and away.

Tired and confused, Elizabeth allowed herself to lean against her rescuer’s back and rest. She was too tired to care who he was or why he had saved her so long as he didn’t force himself upon her. All she could tell about him was that he was a small man. She linked her arms around his waist and fell asleep to the rocking motion of the horse.

When she blinked awake, they were still loping easily over the French terrain but Elizabeth had no idea where they were. The moon had risen like a pale glowing sliver in the sky or a fluorescent Cheshire Cat’s smile. The countryside was dark and quiet and Elizabeth had time to wonder where they were going.

Finally the horseman turned north, and Elizabeth realized they were riding along the coast. She could see the beaches down over the cliff foaming in the slight moonlight, and she wondered if they were headed for port. Maybe this man had been sent by Benjamin to rescue her! Maybe he would be waiting at port for her! Her hopes soared.

They rode on, and in the filtering moonlight Elizabeth, could make out a ship riding the swells. Could Benjamin be down there now, waiting for her? She hoped so. She would proclaim her love for him and plead with him to never send her away again.

The rider turned the horse down a narrow winding trail that Elizabeth had not even seen, and they wound their way down to the beach. She could make out the black-hulled ship laying low on the waves and then realized there was a dingy drifting in the tide and three men stood waiting on the beach. The horseman rode straight for them and only drew rein when he had reached the dingy.

The men assisted Elizabeth down off the horse and bundled her in a warm blanket. Then they herded her into the dingy, and the small man who had saved her gave an order to row for the ship. His face was wrapped in a hood, but Elizabeth thought his voice was somehow familiar. She tried to remember any of Benjamin’s servants who might sound like that, but no one came to mind.

The men rowed silently for the dark ship, and Elizabeth was content to huddle down into her blankets and keep warm. Although she had slept on the horse, she was still tired and her bones ached from the rough handling she’d received lately. She heartily wished she could lay down in a soft feather bed and sleep for a few days.

When they finally bumped against the ship, a watch in the crow’s nest shouted the alert.

“Dingy! Dingy!” he yelled.

“There goes bloomin’ Walter thinking he’s a bell again,” one man grumbled.

“Shut up,” said the short man. “Captain’s waiting.”

A rope ladder was unrolled over the side, and Elizabeth was helped up it. She thought it awfully nice of them to let her go up first, until she looked down and saw them all grinning up at her. Swallowing her embarrassment, she climbed to the top and over the ship’s rail.

There she was immediately surrounded by four burly men who blocked any avenue of escape, and she was forced to wait until the other men had come up the ladder behind her. When the short man stood on deck, she was led, with her bodyguards, down below and stopped before a door. The short man knocked and Elizabeth heard a voice--could it be Benjamin’s?--admit them. The short man swung the door open and motioned her through.

The cabin was lit only dimly by one small candle and she could not see well. The tall broad form she remembered so well stood before her. She flung herself into his arms.

“Oh, Benjamin!” she said. “I’m so glad you found me. I was kidnapped by highwaymen and almost raped and this girl was going to scratch my eyes out and I was so afraid. Please don’t ever send me away again, please.” She looked at him beseechingly and the slow, handsome grin she remembered spread across his face. His arms tightened around her and she felt at peace.

“Here’s a new candle, Captain,” the short man said suddenly from the door. Elizabeth turned and her mouth dropped open in shock.

“Mr. Pramburg!” she said.

“No, no,” he said. “I told you my name is Farnbuck.”

Realization dawned on her, and she twisted around in the arms that held her. She tried to push away but she was held fast.

“What’s the matter, pet?” he laughed. “First you beg me never to send you away and now you fight me. Don’t you love me anymore?”

“Franklin, you bastard! I don’t love you and you know it! I thought you were Benjamin. Let me go!”

“Not this time, pet. You and that goody-two-shoes brother of mine have humiliated me enough, and I intend to come out on top. On you, that is. Benjamin was never much my type. Anyway, you might as well accept the fact that you are here to stay this time.”

“How did you find me? Benjamin sent me away to keep me safe from you. You’re still supposed to be in Paris or somewhere.”

“That’s what I wanted him to think. I let his bodyguards catch one of my spies and he told them I was in Paris plotting to kidnap you. I planned on Benjamin’s playing the martyr husband and sending you away, and I had Farnbuck waiting to waylay your coach. However, I did not plan on your being kidnapped by highwaymen.”

“Well, I was and it was awful! There was this horrible hairy man with a big purple--eh, never mind. Franklin, let me go.”

“No, love. Not this time. This time I’ll take you somewhere where Benjamin will never find you.”

Franklin’s mouth came down and claimed Elizabeth’s, and his tongue invaded her mouth like a stealthy bandit. Before she could resist, she was caught up in the glorious pleasure he was imparting, and she knew she was lost. Franklin’s hands moved hotly over her, running through her hair, kneading her flesh until she felt weak in the knees. She had forgotten how he could do this to her.

“Well,” Franklin said finally. “I was going to rip your dress off you but I see someone else already started the job.” He fingered the scraps of material that hung from her heaving bodice.

“Yes,” she said. “It was that awful girl. She was so jealous of me that she attacked me and tore my dress. That’s the first time a woman ever ripped my gown.”

“Hmmm, yes,” said Franklin. Pretending to inspect the damage, he pulled the shreds and revealed the plump ripeness of her breasts, each topped with a luscious cherry. “Pity about that,” he said consolingly as he slipped one hand into her gown. “I’ll have a new gown made for you.” He found a taut nipple and rolled it between his fingers until it turned rock hard and little jets of pleasure shot through her breasts. She moaned and tried to push away but her arms were weak with passion.

“I doubt if this dress can be repaired,” Franklin said. With a single motion he grabbed the loose material and ripped it full length down the front. Elizabeth’s gown fell away and she stood shaking in her thin chemise, Franklin’s other hand still possessively on her breast.

“I had forgotten how lovely you are,” he said huskily. His lips burned a path across her face, her neck and down toward her taut breasts. She felt on fire and wondered that she could love Benjamin so much and still respond to Franklin like this.

Franklin suddenly bent and scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to his bunk. He laid her carefully, down that is, and raked her flesh with his hot, groping hands. The chemise came away in shreds, and Elizabeth lay bare to his smoldering gaze.

“Franklin, no!” she moaned weakly. “Please don’t do this, Franklin, please don’t.”

“Sorry, pet,” he said raggedly. He began to tear off his own clothes in a fervor. When he stood naked before her, she moaned again.

“Oh, please, Franklin, don’t do this to me.”

Instead of answering, Franklin suddenly produced that THING, that device that had driven her so insane with desire before. His eyes dark with passion, he put it on and stood over her like a heavenly giant. With Elizabeth moaning unintelligible things, Franklin lowered himself on top of her. His hands and lips covered her burning flesh with caresses, and he moved over her in a way that enflamed her with desire. He raised himself up ever so slightly and began to work slowly between her legs when a muffled “ahem” stopped him.

“Satan’s balls, Farnbuck, are you still here?” Franklin roared.

“Sorry sir. “ Farnbuck said quietly. “Where do you want this candle? You did ask me to get it, sir.”

“Shove it up your ass, Farnbuck!”

“Sir?”

“What now?” Franklin bellowed.

“May I blow the flame out first, sir?”

“Farnbuck!” The tone of Franklin’s voice sent Farnbuck scurrying out the door and the sound of running footsteps pattered away.

Franklin looked down seductively at Elizabeth, lying pensively on the bed. Although she stared back at him with dismay, her face was flushed and her body was poised, ready for his thrusting manhood. Franklin came down upon her and they melted into one thrashing, flailing being, making mad passionate love until they both collapsed

in a sweaty pile of exhaustion.

Sometime later, although Elizabeth wasn’t sure how much time had passed, she stirred enough to look around. Now that her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, she recognized Franklin’s cabin. She had so hoped it was Benjamin who had sent for her that she hadn’t noticed the black and red motif or the whip laying idle on the big seamen’s desk. Now she cursed herself for being so gullible and trusting. How could she have thrown herself into Franklin’s arms this way? She felt guilty and afraid, for her wickedness was such that she was sure she would never see Benjamin again.

Franklin rolled over and lay staring at her, his eyes drowsy with satisfaction. He lifted a curled tress from where it lay on her breast and toyed with it between his fingers.

“You have learned from your time with my brother,” he said finally. “You are no longer the clumsy innocent, are you?”

“How dare you?” she said, but her tone did not match her words. She was guilty, yes, and remorseful, but too satiated to rise to Franklin’s taunts. How could such an inhuman wooden device be such a turn on? And that thing he used wasn’t bad, either.

“Don’t show your claws to me, little kitten,” Franklin said. “You are mine now, and my brother will never get you back. You may save your indignities. All I want from you is a willing partner in debauchery.”

“Never!” Elizabeth hissed. “I’ll never come willingly to you. I hate you!”

“That is enough for now. You’ll find that I grow on you.” He slapped the firm pink thigh under his hand and got up from the bed. “Now we must set sail. We have a lot of traveling to do.”

“Where are we going?” she asked hopefully. “Back to England?”

“No, pet,” he laughed. “No more to England. We’re bound for the coast of Africa.”

“Africa? Why are we going there?” She tried to pull the sheet around her to cover her nakedness but it was all soggy and cold. She thrust it away from her and allowed Franklin’s eyes to rake over her as he dressed.

“Because, love, I am in the slave business and that is where one buys slaves.”

“Slaves?” she asked.

“I distinctly hear an echo in here,” he said.

“But that’s cruel and inhuman, Franklin! How can you do such a thing?”

“It’s also very lucrative,” he explained. “And I am in business to make money, not to be human.”

“That’s obvious,” she said sourly.

Franklin pulled on his boots and buttoned his shirt, then came to stand before the bunk.

“Make yourself at home in my absence. Since we’re sailing in the dead of night, I must stay topside to steer us away from the coast to clear waters. I trust you’ll be comfortable.”

“Humph!” Elizabeth said. Franklin bowed low to her and left.

The voyage to Africa passed smoothly and Elizabeth settled into a routine. She took her breakfast alone after Franklin left early, but he returned to have lunch with her. For the remainder of the day she read or sat at the porthole looking out at the lovely green ocean and counting dead fish that floated lazily by. Franklin returned in the evening and they would share dinner, and then would come game time. It was always the same. Franklin would get a new idea, like hollowing out a cucumber instead of his wooden toy, and Elizabeth would always wail and moan until Franklin aroused her beyond reason and she would succumb to his desire. She was becoming very adept at succumbing.

CHAPTER 8

When they dropped anchor off the coast of Africa, Franklin was kept very busy. Elizabeth watched out the porthole as he went with some men to shore in a dinghy and set up a rude camp. As far out as the ship was lying, she had difficulty making out what was going on in the camp, and she decided to rectify the matter.

That afternoon, Farnbuck came in with her luncheon tray. She was dressed as well as she might be in Franklin’s cast off shirt and breeches and began her plan at once.

“Mr. Farnbuck,” she asked innocently. “Is Captain Elliott returning to ship today?”

“No, madam, he’s got to meet with his slavers and arrange for cages on the beach.”

Elizabeth’s stomach turned over, but she plunged on. “But he said I would accompany him back to land later today so he might have me with him. Didn’t he give you such orders?”

“No. He didn’t give me any order like that.”

“I distinctly remember him saying something to you about it at breakfast this morning.”

Farnbuck set out her lunch, refusing to comment.

“Does he get very upset and violent if his orders are not carried out?” she asked sweetly.

Farnbuck glared at her. “He didn’t give me any orders,” he said.

“Oh, all right, Mr. Farnbuck.” She sat at the table and spread her napkin in her lap. “Does Captain Elliott believe in keel hauling?” she asked as she nibbled her lunch.

“Keel hauling?” Farnbuck asked.

“Yes. You know, tying a man by ropes on either side of the ship and dragging him along under the hull of the ship so the barnacles and things tear the flesh off his body and rip....”

“That’s enough!” Farnbuck said. “Captain didn’t give me no orders and I ain’t going to row you to shore.”

“All right,” Elizabeth said sweetly. “Maybe he prefers to flog disciplinary problems instead. He’s so adept with the whip, after all.”

Farnbuck slammed the teapot down on the table and the rest of the plates jumped.

“Are you sure?” he asked angrily. “Are you sure he said that?”

Elizabeth sniffed in contrition. “Quite sure, believe me. I’ve learned to listen well to Captain Elliott and pay close attention to his orders. I don’t want to end up on his shit list.”

“All right!” Farnbuck said. “I’ll order a dingy and have you rowed ashore, but if you’re lying to me....”

“Really, Mr. Farnbuck, a lady of my birth and breeding is hardly one to lie. Truth is a saintly virtue, and probably the only one I have left intact. Now, about that dingy....”

“I’ll order one lowered and come back for you in a half hour. Be ready.”

With a murderous glare and a violent slam of the door, Farnbuck left. Elizabeth hummed to herself as she went about eating her lunch.

Very shortly she was seated in the small, unsteady dingy and headed for shore. The fresh sea breezes felt so good on her face after the crowded, stale air of the cabin for so long. She breathed the air deeply and almost laughed out loud at being outside again. Even if Franklin were angry with her, it would be worth it.

When the dingy pulled onto the beach, one man handed her ashore and then the men beat a hasty retreat back toward the ship.

Franklin had noted the boat’s approach and strode purposefully across the beach.

“What in blue blazes are you doing here?” he demanded. “Who let you out? How did you get my men to row you ashore?” He grabbed her arm brutally and his fingers bruised her tender flesh.

“I’m tired of being stuck in that stale little cabin!” Elizabeth shouted back. “I want to get some fresh air too! I’m not one of your slaves and I won’t stay chained to your bed, so there!”

Franklin gazed at her questioningly, then burst out laughing.

“So,” he said. “My little pet will not stay caged.” He led her up the beach to his camp and motioned her to a comfortable chair under a palm frond awning. He seated himself next to her and lit a pipe. “I’ll find out who was stupid enough to let you out and he’ll be severely punished. And I’ll also find out what you paid him--or how, perhaps I should say?”

He cocked an eyebrow toward her, waiting.

“Are you worried about me giving away my favors to someone else?” she baited.

“You do and I’ll lock you up so well no one will be able to get you out. Now how did you do it?”

“Mr. Farnbuck was kind enough to arrange it for me.”

“Farnbuck?” Franklin said curiously. “Don’t tell me you got that closet queen in bed with you?”

“Not hardly,” Elizabeth sniffed. “Actually I told him you had ordered my transportation to the camp and you would keel haul him if he didn’t do it. You should be flattered that he is so frightened of you.”

“Hmm, yes, I suppose I should. I’ll speak to him about it, though.” He watched her silently for a moment. “You shouldn’t be here, you know. It’s very dangerous.”

“Why?” she asked. She looked around for the first time. She saw men very busy working on cages of some sort, cutting and tying lengths of wood and making sure they were sturdy. Then her eyes fell on a man unlike any she had seen. He was over six feet tall and black as the ace of spades. He wore nothing but a g-string and a little pouch and

his body glistened with sweat in the hot afternoon sun. Elizabeth was immediately interested in him, but also frightened, because the man’s glittering black eyes were riveted on her.

“Who is that?” she managed. She thought it best to return her gaze to Franklin, but her eyes seemed glued to the black man.

Franklin noticed her staring. “You had better not look at him like that for long,” he warned. “That’s a back-stabbing, slave-selling murderous darkie savage and he’d probably like nothing better than to pierce your pink skin with his spear.”

“I don’t see a spear.”

“It’s rising up from his g-string,” Franklin said sourly. And it was. From the trim line across his abdomen, the black’s small garment had suddenly turned to a spiking tower of taut leather, and it beckoned to Elizabeth.

“Don’t these people--if that’s what they are--have any modesty?” she asked.

“None whatsoever. He’d probably come right over and throw you down right here in broad daylight if all my men weren’t around. These savages think of nothing but eating and fornicating, and they never get tired of it.”

“Really?” Elizabeth asked innocently.

Franklin stood up and roughly pulled her up with him. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to be seen out here very much. Come into my tent.” Not waiting for an answer, he pulled her along behind him.

His tent was large and spacious, with a cot set up to sleep on and a table and chair to one side. There were animal skins and strangely decorated rugs thrown about and Elizabeth thought it very wild and savage looking. For some reason the atmosphere on this strange beach seemed charged to her, and she found herself excited in a way she would not admit.

“Will I be safe in here?” she asked curiously.

“For the most part,” Franklin said. “My men won’t bother you on pain of their lives, but I don’t trust the savages. The best thing would be to stay out of sight; that way you won’t be tempting them. Even in my clothes you’re much too sensuous.”

Elizabeth looked down at herself. She had tied Franklin’s shirt about her midriff because it was so long, and the loose front bagged so that the swelling cleavage of her breasts showed. Franklin’s pants were much too big, but the sweat from the heat had plastered them to her body so her legs were clearly outlined.

“But I have nothing else to wear,” she said. “You tore my gown.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Franklin said irritably. “Maybe I can have the natives make up something for you. I’ll see what I can do.” He paced about her in the tent. “I have to go back outside and supervise the men, but I want you to stay in here. That man you saw will be bringing in a load of slaves for the first cages soon, and I don’t want you about.” He came close to her and took her chin roughly in his hand. “Do you understand? If those black bastards get a hold of you, they’ll split you in two. They’re built different from white men, and white women are not suited for it. They’ll kill you if they get to you.”

Elizabeth nodded, suddenly frightened. The notion of being screwed to death didn’t bother her, but she didn’t care much for pain. She’d had enough of that already.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll stay here.”

“Good. I’ll be back shortly after sundown.”

When Franklin left, she prowled around the tent, looking closely at the strange fabrics and designs of the native blankets. The patterns were so completely different from any she’d ever known that she wasn’t sure if she liked them or not. She picked up a zebra skin and tried to imagine the animal as it looked when it was alive, but had difficulty doing it. The only striped animal she had ever seen was a tabby cat and the thought of a huge striped cat was all she could conjure up.

Finally, she settled down on the cot and relaxed in the coolness of the tent. She thought the excitement of getting off the ship and being in such strange new surroundings had tired her, and she slipped easily into a dream filled sleep.

When she awoke, the tent was dark and a strange sound had startled her awake. It frightened her, although she had no idea what it was. She jumped off the cot and ran to the door of the tent, slipping outside before she thought about Franklin’s warning.

A strange sight spread out before her. She saw a teeming line of torches snaking down out of the mountains and along with it came the eerie sound of clanking chains. As she watched, the procession drew closer and filtered into camp, and Elizabeth was shocked to see a long, unruly line of black people all chained together and being herded along by other blacks with clubs and torches.

The word slave had connoted certain meanings to her before of indentured servants, people working for their keep instead of for wages, but she had never in all her wildest dreams thought it could be like this. She was horrified and sickened and the thought of traveling on a slave ship with Franklin turned her stomach. Luckily, it turned toward her colon so she didn’t throw up.

She watched in awe as the clanking line of slaves stopped at a guard and the people stood staring about. She realized there were not only men, but women and even children in chains. They stood like dazed cattle, not knowing what to do or not caring.

She saw one sweat-shiny face turn toward her, then slowly another and another. Suddenly the whole group was staring at her, all eyes wide with awe and--was it reverence? Even the black guards, the traitors to their race, were staring at her, their mouths open and tongues lolling. Elizabeth looked about, wondering what they

were all staring at. Then she saw the tall black man with the loincloth striding toward her. His dark muscles shone in the torchlight.

“Elizabeth!” Franklin shouted. He ran toward her, cutting off the advance of the black man. “Damn you, didn’t I tell you to stay inside? Do you want to be attacked by these savages? Just the sight of you incites them.”

He turned her roughly and pushed her into the tent, away from the hundreds of eyes.

“But Franklin,” she said. “How can you chain all those people? You’re treating them like--like wild animals!”

“That’s exactly what they are,” Franklin said irritably. “And they would just as soon have you for dinner as any other piece of meat and I don’t mean served in bed!”

“You mean they’re cannibals?” she asked in dismay.

“If it gets down to it, yes. If they’ve not got anything else they want they fall upon each other like shrews. Now you must stay hidden. They’ve already seen your golden hair and it’s caused quite a stir.”

“They’ve never seen blonde hair before?”

“No, that’s why they stare at you so. And that tall one--be especially wary of him. He occasionally comes to my tent to discuss the operation and I want you to stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

With warnings ringing in her ears like bells, Elizabeth was left alone again. A man came shortly and brought food for her, strange things she had never seen or tasted before. She tried it all, not daring to imagine what it could be, just experimenting and enjoying.

After dinner, she prowled about the tent and peeked out the flap but since the door faced the sea, she could catch no glimpse of the goings on. She dared not disobey Franklin a second time, but the danger outside was driving her crazy.

Finally she decided she couldn’t stand thinking about it another minute, and she made ready to go to bed. She pulled off Franklin’s clothes and let the cool evening air bathe her sweaty body. She resolved to ask Franklin about arranging for a bath tomorrow so she could scrub the African dirt from her body. She eased under the silk covering on the cot and allowed herself to sleep.

She was rudely awakened by Franklin’s growling and thrashing as he ripped off his clothes and threw his boots. She stirred sleepily and looked up.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What are you doing?”

“You’re going back aboard the ship first thing tomorrow.”

“But why? What did I do now?”

“You’re behaving like a trollop and I won’t have you inciting the natives. You’ll go back on the first boat.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t set one foot outside the tent since you put me here.”

“You didn’t have to. With the torch burning in here it was easy enough for everyone outside to watch the show you made of undressing.”

“Show?” Elizabeth gasped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m sure.” She flounced back down in the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Franklin mumbled curses as he threw the rest of his clothes in a heap. Finally, after pacing angrily for several minutes, he slid into bed beside her. Elizabeth moved as far away from him as possible and sniffed audibly.

“Damn you,” Franklin said. He put one arm around her and pulled her to him. She fought him, twisting and trying to wrench away.

“How dare you!” Elizabeth cried. “How dare you think you can come in here and insult me like that, then expect to have me at your beck and call! Get your hands off me!”

“Be quiet,” Franklin growled. “All I want is to feel you next to me. I’d be a bigger fool than you think if I took you tonight in this thin-walled tent. Then I’d have an uprising for sure, and I’m not talking about myself.”

Elizabeth quieted at that and allowed him to hold her close by his side. She was still angry at the insults he’d called her, but she didn’t want to see an insurrection, either.

“Do I have to go back?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, not only for your safety, but the safety of the entire crew. So far I’ve been able to pay these savages with beads and gadgets, cheap things like that. I’m afraid after seeing you, they may start demanding honey-haired wenches for themselves, and the white slave market is more dangerous than the black market.”

“But Franklin,” she said, snuggling close, “do you think before you send me back I could have a bath? Is there anyplace that’s private, where I could wash the grime from the ship off me? Please?” she wheedled.

“Oh, hell,” Franklin said. “I suppose. Just don’t go about flaunting yourself before the boat takes you back.”

“I won’t,” she said happily. “I promise.”

“All right. I’ll have Edgar take you to a pool that’s near by. It’s surrounded by trees and foliage, bushes too, so it’s private.”

“Who’s Edgar?”

“He’s a big eunuch I picked up a few years back. He’s harmless, but an excellent guard.”

“Oh.” She had never seen a eunuch before. She wondered how it would be to bathe in front of a neutered man. She decided it wasn’t a very pleasant idea, but rather than argue with Franklin and perhaps piss him off again, she allowed him to sleep with their bodies pressed close.

The next morning Elizabeth was awakened roughly by Franklin.

“Here, put your clothes on and take a towel and this bar of soap. Edgar is waiting outside.”

“But I’m not even awake yet!” she cried.

“You’ll wake up in the pool. Come on. The dingy is coming from the ship and I want you on it when it leaves.”

Feeling put upon, Elizabeth shrugged Franklin’s clothes on and took the soap he offered. She found a towel and went outside to meet Edgar.

“Christ!” she said.

“No, this is Edgar,” Franklin corrected. “Don’t worry, he’s safe.” Edgar stood easily six foot nine and must have weighed two-ninety or better. He was a large, flabby black African with strange cuts and scars across his chest. He looked at Elizabeth disdainfully.

“Does he understand English?” she asked.

“Sort of. Actually, I’m not sure how much he knows since he doesn’t have a tongue.”

“No tongue?”

“No. Whoever neutered him must have gotten carried away. At any rate, you’ll be fine.”

Feeling a knot of trepidation in her stomach, Elizabeth went off with Edgar as he led the way to the pool.

Just off the sandy beach, the dense jungle foliage began. Edgar had a huge machete with which he cut and slashed a way through the brush, and shortly they came upon the pool. Elizabeth almost cried out at the beauty of it. It was crystal clear, being fed from a small waterfall off some rocks, and completely enclosed in a green curtain of undergrowth. None of the plants looked at all familiar to her, and she marveled at their beautiful flowers. Delighted with her bath, she slipped off her clothes and waded into the water.

Edgar stationed himself at the hacked open pathway that was already growing back with jungle vines. The big eunuch stared across the pool at nothing, as was his job. Unfortunately, the white woman began to sing as she bathed and Edgar’s eyes were lured down to the pool. He had never seen a woman of such beauty before. He watched

as she lathered the creamy soap over her alabaster skin, caressing the hills and valleys of her body with the suds. He watched as she scrubbed her skin to a glowing healthy pink, then dipped beneath the water to emerge as beautiful and as naked as a sun goddess. Edgar felt his scar tissue trying to get it up, but it was no good.

Suddenly the bushes on the far side of the pool parted and a shining black face appeared. Edgar saw it and immediately started toward Elizabeth so he could get her back to camp. Before he had taken two steps, a tiny dart shot out of the bushes and buried itself in Edgar’s neck. Falling instantly, Edgar tried frantically to warn his charge, but her back was turned and Edgar could make no sound. The eunuch died with a silent, “Oh shit!” on his lips.

Elizabeth rinsed the last of the soap off her body and turned to get out of the pool. She was astounded and frightened to see the pool surrounded by tall, almost naked black savages. Her eyes quickly took in the large sprawling body of Edgar, one finger pointed in a final salute to his murderers. She crouched down in the water up to her chin and tried frantically to think what to do. But there was nothing.

Then her attention was caught by the approach of the tall, striking looking black she had seen before. His eyes bored into her, staring through the clear water, burning her naked flesh. She remembered what Franklin said and she was terrified. Already the meager breechcloth he wore was growing.

Her attention was so riveted on the tall man that she had not noticed other men wading into the pool behind her. Suddenly she heard the splashing and turned to see four savages coming toward her, spears upraised. They came toward her purposefully, and she backed away. Before she knew it, she had backed completely out of the water and the tall chief black had grabbed her up and was carrying her off.

Elizabeth began to kick and scream, hoping against hope that the man would let her go. He only clutched her closer and put his free hand over her mouth. Going at a half run, half walk, the savage carried her through the jungle, farther and farther from Franklin’s ship.

CHAPTER 9

After a short while, Elizabeth noticed their pace slackening and finally the entire party broke into a clearing. There were small grass huts assembled in a circle in the clearing and other blacks, men and women alike, and they all came forward excitedly. The sounds and words they made were unintelligible to her. She was embarrassed beyond belief at the way they stared at her lovely pink body and pointed to her cascading blonde hair. Her captor permitted the exhibition for a short time, then seemed to signal its end. The people backed away respectfully, and Elizabeth found herself being carried into the largest hut in the clearing.

Reed mats covered the floor and animal skins were thrown in comfortable piles. The tall man dumped Elizabeth unceremoniously on the skins and stared down at her with lust gleaming in his eyes. Elizabeth backed away from him, pulling a pelt over her flaming body. Her eyes glanced frightfully at the straining material of his g-string, and she almost screamed when he threw himself on top of her.

Elizabeth struggled frantically as the African began to kiss and caress her, his weight holding her under him. His hands were hot wherever they touched her, and she was ashamed to realize that she was perspiring, but not from fear. The man’s touch quickened her blood and her heart pounded in her chest. When she struggled against him, her movements only served to inflame the man more and she could feel his hardness pushing through his loincloth.

Suddenly the savage turned his attention from her, and she was horrified when he removed the scant clothing he had. His spear jumped forward, alert and gleaming, and Elizabeth could only stare in fear and amazement. Franklin wasn’t kidding! It was the biggest wanger she had ever seen, and being married to Benjamin, that was saying some. Before she could gather her wits about her, she was pushed down into the mats again and the African was on top of her.

He stroked and petted her, although she fought him, and gave her a hickey on her neck. Since he did not try to enter her immediately, she relaxed somewhat, and found herself responding to the man’s caresses. He kissed and sucked her breasts and titillated her tits with his teeth. When he moved his hands and mouth down her body, she writhed in a passionate motion, moving sensuously beneath him. When he found her dark secret place with his tongue, she gasped in surprise and pushed his head down for more. She had never experienced such feelings before and found herself becoming more and more excited. Suddenly the African did an acrobatic twist in the air above her and she found his throbbing ding dong hanging invitingly in her face.

Reacting only with her carnal instincts, she took it in her mouth and licked and sucked like a starving puppy. Then her captor seemed to shiver spasmodically and his body came down on hers, and she gagged. His being closed up her throat until she couldn’t breath and she began to struggle and turn blue. Finally he got up off her and lay beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to suffocate you.” Elizabeth was shocked that he could speak English, but she still couldn’t breathe so well, and had a hard time trying to speak.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Gaauuggghh,” she gagged.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the savage said in Oxford English. “I assumed you were well versed in fellatio.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. It’s an ancient tribal custom. Are you all right now?”

“I think so,” Elizabeth said.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable here. I want you to be relaxed for the ceremony tomorrow.”

“What ceremony?”

“The ceremony whereby you’ll become my fifth wife. I have to make you my fifth wife or my other four wives will be upset, but actually I think I will hold you in the highest regard of all. After all, having a sun goddess for my wife will promote me to a sun god, even if I am a darkie.”

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth asked. “I can’t marry you! I’m already married!”

“So what? So am I. Anyway, if your husband comes for you--I mean to rescue you--I’ll kill him.”

“Oh, you can’t do that!” she exclaimed. “Anyway, Franklin isn’t my husband.”

“That man who leads the slavers?” the chief asked. “The one you sleep with in the tent is not your husband’?”

“No, that’s my husband’s brother.”

The black man looked suspiciously at her, but she really didn’t want to explain. She hoped she wouldn’t be there that long.

“But I really can’t marry you,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because,” she stuttered, groping for words, “because, for one thing I don’t even know your name, and for another thing, I don’t love you.”

“My name,” he said, “is Wilt the Stilt and you can learn to love me. In my language my name means ‘Tickler of Many Uvula.’ You’ll see. Our tribal customs are really quite beautiful when you learn them.”

“But this is impossible!” Elizabeth wailed. “I don’t belong here! I belong at home in England with Benjamin!” She began to cry piteously and Wilt took pity on her.

“That’s all right,” he said consolingly. “I’ll leave you alone for awhile to think about it. I have to make arrangements for our wedding tomorrow anyway.”

Much to Elizabeth’s relief, Wilt left her. She rolled herself in a tiger skin and cried uncontrollably, wishing she were dead or anyplace but here. She desperately hoped Franklin would come to rescue her, and that Wilt wouldn’t kill him. Surely Franklin wouldn’t sail away without her. Or would he? Feeling very afraid and alone, she cried herself into a stupor.

It was sometime later that Elizabeth was awakened by the sound of drums. She pushed herself up and listened, hearing the driving, rhythmic beats close around her and wondered what it meant. By the look of the shadows outside she knew it was close to sunset. Why hadn’t Franklin come for her yet? Maybe he had already tried and Wilt had killed him. Fearing the worst, she dragged a zebra skin around her and huddled at the back of the hut, dreading what was to come.

After a while Wilt returned. He sat beside her and stared meaningfully into her eyes. He knew she was frightened and unhappy, but he hoped she would change after they were married. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he wanted her more than anything else in the world. Her golden skin and honey hair caused unfamiliar fires to burn in him and his fire hose stood up.

“We must start the preparations,” he said finally.

“What preparations?” Elizabeth asked.

“The wedding preparations. Don’t be afraid; you won’t be harmed in any way. My aunts will help you.”

“No, no,” she moaned. “You don’t understand. I can’t, I--”

“Hush,” he said firmly. “You are no longer in your white world. You are mine now, and that is all there is to it. My aunts will be in shortly, and I will not see you again until the wedding.” He played with one spun gold curl that lay on her bare shoulder and his manner changed to a softer tone. “Do not be afraid. I will love you and cherish you more than any white man. You will see.” And he left.

Elizabeth was ready to cry again but two very black, very fat women came in wearing nothing but thatched grass skirts. They eyed her curiously, almost like children with a new toy, and Elizabeth wondered what they were going to do. After they had apparently looked their fill, one drew an animal skin across the doorway of the hut and the other one began to move all the junk in the hut out of the middle to clear a large space.

Elizabeth found herself being scooted toward the wall of the hut, animal skins, and all. When the middle area was clear, one of Wilt’s aunts called outside in a strange tongue and there was a great commotion. Finally some young girls came to the door, wrestling with a big tub made of lashed together reeds with some shiny substance coating it. The two women put the tub in the middle of the floor and then the young girls began to bring suds, and clay pots of hot, steaming water. Elizabeth watched as the tub was filled with the boiling water.

It was a long process, and Elizabeth found herself getting bored. She noticed the women cast curious glances at her occasionally, and the girls that appeared at the door really giggled and stared excitedly. She began to wonder if they were preparing a bath or a cooking pot.

Finally the tub was ready and the women coerced her into it. The water was so hot that she had difficulty getting in. It made her toes feel cold. Eventually she sat in it, the hot water enveloping her.

The women produced a hard, funny-smelling bar of soap and motioned for her to wash with it. At first she was skeptical but then she began to lather the soap over her and it gave her skin a luxurious silky feeling. She found the odor not near so bad once the water acted on the soap and as a matter of fact, it even smelled sensual to her. Getting caught up in the bath, she washed enthusiastically, much to the pleasure of the two women.

When she had washed sufficiently, one of the aunts held up a woven piece of material that Elizabeth deduced she was to dry off with. She almost hated to get out of the tub, but the women were insistent. They wrapped her in the cloth and dried her, then set her down on the animal skins again.

The girls appeared at the doorway again and handed in some crude clay vessels. The women took them ceremoniously and brought them to Elizabeth. She looked ill and could make out some sort of oil, but beyond that she had no idea what it was. She was shocked beyond words when the aunts began to cover every inch of her skin with the oil, rubbing it into her pores until her flesh gleamed. The strange sensations the massage evoked in her caused her mixed feelings of pleasure and guilt, but she saw no way out of the procedure. The women were both adamant and complete in their treatment of her, and she was made to sit until her whole body shimmered.

The next plan of action she found was the building of a fire in the center of the hut. The women piled the dry sticks on it until the flames were three feet high and the hut was insufferably hot. They had Elizabeth sit close to the fire and then they sat around, completing the circle about the flames. Then, swaying to an inner rhythm, the black women began to sing.

Elizabeth fell asleep. The warmth of the hut and the long, exhausting day took its toll and she found herself nodding and finally dropping off to sleep. She slept for several hours.

When she awoke, the soft light of dawn was stealing through the hut and the still glowing embers of the lire warmed the interior. The aunts had fallen asleep and sat nodding stodgily across from Elizabeth, and the idea of escape played temptingly in her mind. She moved slowly and carefully and crawled to the door of the hut. Just as she sat at the doorway, though, one of the aunts awoke and cried in distress.

“Aieeee!” she said, and scared the shit right out of Elizabeth.

Frightened by the intensity of the woman’s scream and naked any way, she returned to her place by the fire. The women now were fully awake and had begun to bustle about, busy with some new activity that Elizabeth knew nothing about. The only thing she knew was that time was running out and Franklin still hadn’t come to save her.

Before too long, Elizabeth found herself being prodded and turned by the women, then dressed like a doll. They draped a thin silken white material over her, arranging it in such a way that her oiled breasts welled above it in provocative mounds. The gauzy material fell about her legs in a graceful sensuous way, and Elizabeth was awed by the beauty of it in such a primitive place.

Next, ornaments of the most beautiful gold were brought, and the women attached small gold chains about her ivory throat. She was shown how to wear the hammered gold armbands and the dainty rings. Earrings of tiny gold spirals hung off her ears, and she was beginning to think being an African princess wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Finally it seemed that all was in order. Elizabeth would have liked to have had something to eat, instead, all but one woman, the biggest and fattest, left the hut. The last woman sat by the door as if to guard it, and she watched Elizabeth in her wedding finery.

Shortly there was a great commotion outside, but the woman at the door was too fat for Elizabeth to see. She heard great quantities of talking and running about, and sensed that the whole village was astir. She was ready for something to happen, but sat quietly with her stomach growling.

Finally, two tall, lean men came to the door of the hut and talked to her guardian. Elizabeth waited while they performed some sort of ritual, each of the three speaking at intervals. Then, with no warning, the two men swept the woman aside and came purposefully toward Elizabeth, their breech cloths straining and their spears shining.

Elizabeth was frightened by their sudden approach but trusted that Wilt would not allow her to be abused. The two men came to either side of her and took her arm and propelled her out the door. After being imprisoned in the hut for so many hours, the bright light blinded her, and she stumbled as the men pulled her along. When she regained her vision, she was amazed to see a living ring of people gathered around the interior of the village. Men, women and children stood chanting in a moving, swaying circle, the center toward which she was being escorted. There in the middle of the camp was a tall wooden platform like an obtuse triangle with stairs going all the way to the top. And at the top, Elizabeth noticed, Wilt was waiting for her.

Finding that the music and the emotions were reaching her, she realized she was swaying also, and her feet moved to the chanting. By the time she reached the bottom of the platform, she was undulating sensuously, completely caught up in the experience. She looked up to Wilt and saw his eyes shining down at her and the glow from them seemed to light a fire inside her. She hadn’t even realized that her escorts had released her, but began to climb the steps almost in a trance. As the sun rose above the horizon and shone brightly in the sky, Elizabeth climbed higher toward the black god above her. Soon the black god and white goddess would be united.

At the top of the platform, Wilt took Elizabeth’s hands and turned her beside him toward the sun. Following his example, she raised her arms toward the shining orb as in deference and sublimation and the warm rays ran down her arms like honey, only not as sticky. The wedding pair stood taking in the sun’s rays as if drawing life force from it and the entire assemblage stood silent.

Until the first gunshot. Then before Elizabeth fully understood what was going on, shots were ringing out everywhere and people were running and screaming. From the top of the platform, it looked as if hundreds of black ants were scurrying blindly in every direction. It was a moment before Elizabeth realized that the shots must be coming from white men’s guns, and the only white men in the vicinity were Franklin’s.

“Son of a bitch!” said Wilt, and Elizabeth saw Franklin’s men swarming out of the jungle with guns blazing. The natives were still running about hysterically and the white men met no resistance.

Suddenly one man detached himself from the group and headed straight for the platform.

“Franklin!” Elizabeth screamed. In the pandemonium, she had forgotten the chanting and swaying that had so caught her up, and now could only think of Franklin saving her. She forgot all about Wilt and ran down the steps to Franklin as fast as she could. When she was only two steps away, she threw herself into his arms and knocked him square on his ass. Luckily he hadn’t come up too many steps.

Without a word, Franklin picked her up and carried her out of the village. Feeling suddenly very tired and wanting to cry, Elizabeth buried her head into Franklin’s neck and passed out.

When she woke up she was lying on a pile of blankets in the bottom of a dingy and Franklin was rowing steadily out to sea.

“Oh, Franklin!” she said. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I haven’t come yet, but I did rescue you,” he said.

“I’m so glad. Wilt was going to marry me and make me his sun goddess and....”

“It’s all over with now,” Franklin said. “As soon as the rest of my men get back to the ship, we’re sailing and you’ll never have to see this place again.”

“Thank goodness,” Elizabeth breathed in relief. “I was afraid I was going to be skewered on my wedding night.” When they reached the ship, Franklin took Elizabeth down to his cabin and ordered food brought for her. Having not eaten for two days, she was famished and ate everything Franklin set in front of her. Almost. He saw that she was regaining her strength and went above to see to the rigging of the ship. He planned to set sail before sundown.

When he finally was able to return to his cabin, Franklin opened the door quietly so as not to awaken Elizabeth if she were sleeping.

She wasn’t. She stood at the porthole watching the water slide by as they bore out across the ocean. She had lit one lantern and the soft glow colored her skin a golden honey, and her long flaxen hair fell in a sensuous curtain down her back. She still wore the white marriage outfit of the tribe, and it wrapped her body in a virginal yet inviting way, revealing warm flesh here and there between the straps. Franklin found himself completely captivated by her enchanting loveliness and he got a tremendous hard on.

Without speaking a word, he crossed the plank floor and came to stand behind her. At the sounds of his heels on the wood, she turned and he took her into his arms. Her flesh was warm to his touch, and glowing still from the oil that had been massaged into her skin, and Franklin found himself in a frenzy of desire. He pulled her hard against his chest and crushed her mouth with his and if they’d both worn braces they would have been locked together.

“Oh, Franklin,” she breathed. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“Don’t even think it,” he said. “You don’t know how I’ve hungered for you, out here alone in this god-forsaken place. I’ve also hungered for a hot fudge sundae, but more for you. And then when I saw you up on that platform, dressed like a goddess, I thought I would go mad if I couldn’t get you back.” He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. “Now that I have you back, I’ll never let you go again.”

And although Franklin had so admired Elizabeth in her pagan wedding gown, he ripped it off her body in animalistic frenzy and covered her burning flesh with kisses. The oil on her skin grew warm under his touch and seemed to only add to his excitement. When he finally managed to tear his own clothes off, his entire body was rigid with anticipation, almost like rigor mortis, but he was breathing like a steam engine. Elizabeth, aroused as she was by Franklin’s passionate adoration, realized that he was too far driven to bother with his little gadget that she had grown so fond of, so she anticipated an anti- climatic climax. Then, thinking quickly, she pushed Franklin away and turned herself around on top of him, showing him the savage way of making love she had learned from Wilt. Since Franklin’s organ was so much smaller than Wilt’s, she had no problem with the gagging, and anyway, she was on top so it was easier. She caressed Franklin’s manhood with her tongue and lips and teeth, being very careful not to bite too hard, although small bites she found drove him to the very brink of ecstasy. At the same time she realized she had left herself wide open (so to speak) to Franklin’s own questing tongue and the combination lifted them both to a high plain of sensuality. The only problem she encountered was when she got a bit of his foreskin caught between her teeth and Franklin howled in pain and renewed excitement, but in the peak of passion they rode out the little mishap and ate their way to oblivion.

When Franklin had retained his color and began breathing like a normal asthmatic, he eyed Elizabeth queerly.

“Is that what twenty-four hours with savages does to you?” he asked.

“I guess,” she said, panting.

“I wonder how difficult it would be to turn the ship around?” he muttered to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I’m glad to see you’ve regained your strength. We have a long voyage ahead of us.”

“Where are we going now?” Elizabeth asked pensively. “Are we going back to England?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “I can never show my face in England again. “We’re going to the New World.”

“The New World? Where is that?”

“Do you mean to tell me,” he asked, astonished, “that you’ve lever heard of the Americas?”

“Oh, the Americas,” she said. “Yes, but isn’t that where all the Indians are, and they do such awful things to people?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“But I don’t want to go there,” Elizabeth wailed. “I want to go home.”

“Sorry, love,” Franklin said. “We’re going to take these slaves to the New World and together we’ll start a new life.”

“Do you mean you still have slaves aboard, after all that ruckus back there?”

“Of course. Why do you think it took me so long to come and rescue you? I had to make sure the slaves were all aboard before I could leave to get you.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Now, what other quaint customs did you learn from those black devils?”

The days at sea passed slowly for Elizabeth, for she had little to occupy her time beside knitting jock socks for Franklin and counting seagulls that flew by the porthole and crapped on the waves. Not too many days out, though, she realized she was going to have to talk seriously with Franklin for now she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was knocked up.

Usually she stayed in bed long after he went up on deck, and she ate lunch alone so the only meal they took together was dinner. Franklin was so often in a foul mood until he’d eaten that she didn’t wish to broach the subject with him then, but as soon as he was done eating, he always wanted desert--African style. They had very little time for conversation. Still, she decided she must speak to him about it, and about providing for Benjamin’s son. She knew it was Benjamin’s, and a son, as all women truly know such things, and besides sometimes the little brat kicked like a soccer player.

One evening she sat quietly while Franklin wolfed down his dinner, trying to decide how to approach him. She thought from the southeast would be the best. She had been eating less lately, since her stomach was not as rock-steady as it used to be, and Franklin noticed.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

“Not very,” she said. “I haven’t been feeling very well lately.”

“Oh?” he said, “still eating.

“No. I’ve been sick, often in the mornings.”

Franklin cocked a black eyebrow at her. “Are you playing games with me, love, or are you trying to tell me something?” He had put his knife and fork down and was staring at her steadily.

“I’m trying to tell you,” she began, “that I--that I....” Suddenly Franklin’s face lit up like a light bulb and a grin spread clear across it. He swallowed his last mouthful noisily and reached across the table for her hand.

“Are you with child?’” he asked happily.

She found she couldn’t speak, but only nodded. She thought his pleasure over the matter was extremely unexpected. Instead, she had thought he would rant and rave or even threaten her unborn child since it was not his.

“A child!” he said joyous1y. “I’m about to be a father!” Releasing her hand, Franklin jumped up and ran to her side.

“Are you feeling all right, my dear?” he asked. “Are you warm enough? You must eat, you know, to build up your strength. I don’t want my son to be weak.”

“But Franklin,” she said, horrified. “It’s not your son.”

“Nonsense!” he said angrily. “How many months are you?”

“About three.”

“And about three months ago was when I kidnapped you the first time, so it’s my child.”

Franklin was right, of course, although she had lain with Benjamin also about the same time. But she had to admit he had a point. It could be either brother’s child. And how would anyone ever know? The brother’s being identical, the child would look

like both of them. Perhaps that would be just as well, for if Franklin were convinced it was Benjamin’s, she was sure he wouldn’t suffer it to live. He was asshole enough to be like that.

“All right,” she agreed meekly.

“Good. That’s settled. Now, why don’t you lie down? You must be tired from your long day, and you’ve got to have your rest. You don’t want to wear yourself out.”

From that evening on, Elizabeth found Franklin to be conscientiously thoughtful and ever ready to pamper her. He would not allow her to lift the smallest item or walk too far without his support, and she found his concern both touching and a pain in the ass. And he was so smug! She was sure he must never have had a child before, or at least not hung around to find out. It was nice, though, to be waited on hand and foot.

The only problem Elizabeth had was keeping up with Franklin’s imagination. Since he knew the time would come when normal intercourse would be uncomfortable, he wanted to experiment to find ways that would ease the discomfort. Elizabeth found herself hanging from the rafters in the cabin, bending over the huge desk and sitting backwards in Franklin’s lap. She had to admit, it wasn’t all bad.

The days slid into weeks and the weeks into months. She had stopped staring out the porthole hoping to see Benjamin’s ship cresting the horizon and bearing down on a mission of rescue. She had stopped hoping that Franklin would stop in England and set her free out of the goodness of his heart. She had stopped doing much of anything besides getting fatter.

Finally one evening at dinner, Franklin was able to give her news.

“We should be seeing land in another day or two,” he said.

“America?”

“No, not quite. We’re stopping in some small islands just off the southeast coast to trade and take on supplies. I’ll be leaving about a third of the slaves there, then taking the rest on to America.”

“Oh,” she said, not really interested. What was there for her in America?

“When we sell the rest of the slaves, I plan to sell my ship and settle down. Would you like a mansion, perhaps with your own slaves to wait on you hand and foot? We won’t be poor, I can assure you.”

“I have no doubt,” she said. “But how can you talk of settling down as if we were married? I’m Benjamin’s wife, not yours.”

“Are you or are you not Mrs. Elliott?” he asked with a mocking smile.

“Of course I am Mrs. Elliott,” she said indignantly. “You know that.”

“And you know my name is Elliott, also. So what difference does that one small detail make? No one else shall know, and I won’t let it bother me. My son will bear the Elliott name, as truly he should, and everything will be fine.”

So Franklin rationalized. Elizabeth found it vexing to try to reason with him, for his head seemed to be made of wood, so eventually she gave up.

She couldn’t deny that the idea of approaching land excited her. She was tired of being cooped up in the tiny cabin and wished for solid ground beneath her feet. She also wished her belly button wouldn’t protrude so, but she couldn’t have everything.

CHAPTER 10

The next day she heard the fateful cry from a sharp-eyed sailor above decks.

“Shit!”

“What’s’a matter, mate?” another sailor asked.

“Damn seagull got me right in my sharp eye, and I can’t see a blinkin’ thing. What’s out there?”

“Land!” screamed the second sailor. “Land, ho!”

And Elizabeth waited trembling for the far island to grow on the horizon into a large land mass with verdant foliage and even some trees here and there. She thought she had never seen a place so green, nor with so many strange folks about.

“Franklin,” she asked when he came down to the cabin, “Why are there so many different colored people there? I see black and white and brown and red.”

“Santo Domingo is a mixture of many races,” he said. “Besides the native Indians there are blacks such as my slaves and Spanish and English and Dutch, to name a few. It’s a very interesting place.”

The ship came to rest at harbor with a great thump and splintering of wood, then lines were thrown and pulled taut and main sails were put down. Elizabeth heard much clamor above decks and waited impatiently for Franklin to come for her. He had promised he would take her ashore before anything else. She had dressed carefully in a warm-hued green gown that Franklin had gotten from somewhere, and she knew she looked striking. The gown fit close to her bosom, its low neck showing off the swell of her breasts in an inviting way, but then it fell loosely over her bulging stomach in great folds of satin. Even pregnant she looked bewitching.

Franklin finally came down and looked her over critically but seemed to approve. He took her arm and led her up the stairs.

“We’ll be staying with Count Cadiz while we’re here, and he’s waiting for us at the dock. He’s a very wealthy Spaniard who has developed expansive plantations, and he’ll be buying most of my slaves. I will expect you to be especially considerate of him as his disposition has a large bearing on my profits.”

Elizabeth was so grateful to be taken off the ship that she readily agreed. And anyway, if Count Cadiz was so wealthy, she was sure he would have impeccable manners. It would be nice to spend time with civilized people again.

When Franklin led her across the deck and down the gangplank, she tried to pick out the Count from the throng of people that jammed the dock. There were so many people, of all sizes and colors, that she had difficulty discerning anyone at all. She did, however, have an odd feeling that several pairs of eyes were concentrating on her.

She stepped from the gangplank on to the wooden dock and immediately met the intense stare of a score of men. Several brown-skinned natives in tattered, short pants watched her sullenly, while slaves already tamed to work on the dock leered openly. She detected the lighter skin tones of some Dutchmen, who watched her beneath blonde brows, and at the back of the crowd, towering above the others was a tall swarthy man with a black patch over one eye.

“Count Cadiz,” she heard Franklin say, “may I present my wife, Elizabeth? Dear, this is the Count.”

Elizabeth turned and her eyes rested on the short, portly being of Count Cadiz. He was about four feet tall, his eyes just barely clearing her rounded belly, and his olive-toned face was slashed by a black, waxed mustache that curled upwards at the ends. He wore a dark blue outfit of the best serge, and a wide ribbon of red crossed his chest, a gold medal holding it in place at his shoulder. He took the hand that hung limp at Elizabeth’s wrist and pressed it to his lips. His eyes glowed as if lit by a lantern within his hollow head.

“Senora,” he said unctuously. She could almost see the grease shining on his black hair. He smiled at her, and there was a space between his two front teeth.

“Count,” she returned as graciously as she could.

“One, two, three....” said the Count.

“We’ve had a long journey,” Franklin said, “and my poor wife as you can see, has not been feeling well. Shall we get away from the dock and all these germ-infested people?”

“Of course,” said the Count agreeably. “My carriage is waiting. Senora?” He held out his arm for Elizabeth, who looked questioningly to Franklin. He nodded, so she laid her hand on Cadiz’s arm and allowed him to lead her. The crowd of lusting men parted reluctantly to let them through. She felt very self-conscious, as if the men strained to get close to her, their eyes piercing and their fingers itching. Someone even tried to cop a feel, but Cadiz whisked her out of the way just in time. She was greatly relieved when they gained the carriage.

It was a beautiful carriage, of black lacquered wood with deep purple fittings and brass hardware. Cadiz handed Elizabeth up, and she sunk into the plush velvet seat, her slippers cradled in deep purple carpet. Cadiz swung up and settled himself beside her, and Franklin sat facing them. At a rap on the door by the Count, the carriage jumped forward.

“I hope you will find my humble hospitality comfortable, “ he said to Elizabeth. “We do not have all the pleasures of the homeland, but we try to keep up appearances, even in such a remote place as Santo Domingo.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Elizabeth said.

“I have tried to make my home as I had it in Spain, and I think if you have never visited Spain, you will enjoy it.”

The carriage ride was short, but Elizabeth was kept interested by the beautiful countryside out the window. She saw dense forests that climbed up the hillsides of the island, and rolling fields of strange crops on the flatlands. Cadiz pointed out some of the new plants to her, but the names were unfamiliar.

Finally, the carriage turned off the dirt road and onto a shaded drive, and Elizabeth could see a large, sprawling house of red tile and white stucco walls. From the front it was unassuming, but she had an idea it was very grand and spacious. She had never known a short man yet that didn’t have delusions of grandeur.

The driver reined in the carriage, and the three alighted. Elizabeth found herself again on the Count’s arm, and he swept her into the house with a flourish. From the doorways off the entry foyer, she could see rooms of cool white walls and black wrought iron, red velvet furniture and dark wooden tables.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. Her eyes fell on a strikingly beautiful fountain in gold leaf of a cherubic boy peeing into a fishpond. The richness of it awed her.

Just then an assembly of black-garbed people formed in front of them, and Cadiz presented his staff of maids and valets and cooks. They all bowed or curtsied to the Elliotts, but Elizabeth knew she would never remember all their names.

“Take their baggage,” the Count instructed two of the staff, “and I will show you to your rooms personally. Come this way.”

The oily little man led them up a grand staircase with velvet ropes looping down the banister and distinguished pictures on the walls. The more Elizabeth saw, the more impressed she was. That such great wealth could exist in such a primitive place was beyond her.

“Senor Elliott, this is your room,” he said grandly. He flung open a door into a large, exquisitely furnished room of royal blue and bold, with dark, heavy furniture. Cadiz pointed out the dry sink and bathtub and the dressing room to one side.

“Through this door,” said the Count, “is your lovely wife’s room.” He opened the connecting door into the next room, done predominantly in red and gold, with a touch of black. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and emitted a dazzling display of prismic light.

“I hope you approve,” the Spanish midget said.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Elizabeth cried. “But surely this is not just a guest room. It’s too grand.”

“Well, actually, this is like an extra playroom, but it’s yours now. And my name is Franco, not Shirley.”

“Thank you, Senor,” she said sincerely. “Your hospitality is touching.”

So was Cadiz, but Elizabeth was too excited to notice.

“If you should care to freshen up after your long voyage, I’ll have hot water brought up. Then, if you like, I’ll show you my plantation.”

Elizabeth busied herself looking about her room while a dark skinned maid brought hot water up in buckets. A ceramic tub was already set up behind a screen against one wall, and the girl filled it quickly. Elizabeth was surprised to see a large mirror on the wall, since she was not used to seeing herself bathe, but the idea

rather excited her.

When the girl had left for the last time, Elizabeth pulled off her gown and slid into the hot water. It crept up on her skin, so hot it felt cold, and made her flesh red. She found the scented soap and a cloth and began to wash.

For come reason she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched, but she looked around and could see no one. Of course, the screen blocked her view of the entire room, but she still couldn’t see anyone. She watched herself in the mirror to try to ease that feeling, and occupied herself by washing. It was amazing how sensuously she could move her body when she wanted to, and she lathered her slender limbs and cupped suds around her firm breasts. She ignored the fact that her breasts rested on her protruding stomach. Instead, she pretended she was willow thin again, and she arraigned the suds around her body provocatively, imagining Benjamin could see her.

She almost forgot about her feeling of being watched, but suddenly she heard a strangled cry, muffled from somewhere past the wall, and then the mirror she faced shook in its frame. She sunk low in the tub and looked anxiously about, but once the sound subsided it was quiet again. She heard no other noises and finally finished washing, rang for the maid and prepared for dinner.

Just as the last crimson rays of the sun flooded the horizon, Franklin knocked on Elizabeth’s door and entered without waiting for permission. Elizabeth had just sent the maid away and stood waiting petulantly. Franklin had never seen her so beautiful.

Her host had provided a sea-green velvet gown that was caught just below her breasts by a threaded-pink ribbon. The décolletage was low, showing the roundness of her full breasts, and tiny pink-cast seed pearls embroidered the neckline. From the shoulders, the sleeves fell full length to her wrists in a graceful bell-shape, the cuffs also touched with seed pearls. Her hair had been artfully arranged in shimmering golden curls with tiny green and pink velvet bows tied throughout. She was a vision of loveliness.

“I’ve never seen you look so beautiful,” he said.

She cast her eyes down demurely and allowed Franklin to stand in the sight of her beauty. For a few brief seconds, he simply stood and drank in the loveliness of her as a dying man drank water. Then he crossed the room with sprinting steps and took her in his arms.

“We don’t have to go down to dinner,” he said huskily in her ear. “I’ll send a maid down saying we’re too tired from our journey. We can just stay here and,” he kissed her neck and throat, “practice our African delights.”

“But Franklin,” Elizabeth said, “I thought we had to be very considerate of the Count. You said the sale of your slaves depended on it.”

“That’s true,” Franklin said sourly. “Well, then, we’ll just save it for later.” He pressed hot kisses on the swelling roundness of her full breasts, slipping a tongue in between them. “It will be all the better for having to wait.”

They went downstairs arm in arm and Franklin led the way to the huge dining room. The heavy oaken table was set with beautiful Spanish china and crystal and candles burned in several wrought-iron sconces on the walls. The table was set for three, one at either end and one on the side very close to the head.

“Ahh,” said the Count. Elizabeth had not seen him, but he had been standing behind a bar mixing drinks and the bar was taller than he was. “What would you care to drink? I have some fine Spanish wine, or would you like a Shirley Temple, perhaps?”

“Wine is fine,” Franklin said for both of them. The Count poured two more glasses and handed them to his guests. Elizabeth could smell the heady aroma even before she drank.

“Dinner will be served right away,” the Count Said. “Here, Senor Elliott, please sit here.” The Count gestured to the chair at the far end of the table. “And you, Senora Elliott, this is your seat.” Lovingly he placed Elizabeth in the chair close to his own. She took her seat and wondered at the way his hands trailed over her bare shoulders. She thought perhaps the wine was getting to him.

When the count sat down, he almost disappeared behind his plate but then reappeared. Elizabeth chanced to peek at his chair and saw he had missed his telephone books the first time. He rang a petite, solid silver bell and in no time, servants had placed silver plates in front of the diners, piled high with aromatic food. Elizabeth found she was famished and the sight and smell of fresh cooked food made her mouth water. As soon as the Count picked up his fork, she dove into her dinner.

“I trust you find my humble abode comfortable,” the Count said as they ate. His gleaming black eyes fastened on Elizabeth’s bodice and hung on like a terrier.

“It’s lovely,” Elizabeth said shyly. The Count’s perusal of her charms embarrassed her, but she remembered Franklin’s admonishing her to be considerate. She wouldn’t want to deny Franklin the sale of his slaves.

“I’m glad you like it,” the Count said smugly. “We try to pride ourselves on our culture and bearing, although sometimes it’s difficult with all the savages about. They cling so tenaciously to their magic and voodoo.”

“Voodoo?” Elizabeth said with wide eyes. That was a vaguely familiar word to her although she wasn’t sure what it meant. It conjured up images of terrifying painted faces and bloody knives and screams in the darkness. It gave her the same feeling as thinking about childbirth.

“Yes,” said the Count dramatically. “Voodoo. They practice it still, although we have tried to squelch it. The heathens are very persistent, though. They have caverns back in the interior of the island where they have human sacrifices and all sorts of abominable rites. It’s really quite terrifying.”

At his description, the color in Elizabeth’s face drained all the way down to her tippy-toes, except no one could see there. A sickening vision of a dirty, jagged knife disemboweling her unborn baby almost made her barf.

“Agghh,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” the Count asked.

She fainted.

In a flash, Franklin had jumped up and picked Elizabeth up from the plate where she had fallen. He brushed the mashed potatoes from her nose and cradled her in his arms.

“Oh, my!” said the Count. “I’m afraid I have been too graphic for the lady. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Franklin said with gritted teeth. “I’ll take her to her room. She probably just needs rest.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s all it is. She’ll feel better after a nap.”

Franklin carried Elizabeth upstairs and laid her carefully on her bed. He felt he should loosen her clothing so she could breathe easier, but her dress was already open almost to her nipples. Instead, he pulled the tiny pink ribbon from beneath her breasts and laid it aside.

She was still very pale, and a light sweat had broken out on her forehead. Franklin thought perhaps a bit of cool water might rouse her, but he looked about and saw no pitcher amid the opulence of the room. Cursing beneath his breath, he left her to go downstairs and get some. Unbeknownst to him, the Count watched eagerly behind his two-way mirror, and as soon as Franklin left, he tiptoed into the room. He stood over the sleeping beauty, gloating in all his four-foot finery.

“Just wait, mi amore,” he said aloud. “Tonight you will be mine.” He chuckled when he imagined her in the black stockings and garter belt he had, wearing black spike heels and ordering him to do her bidding. How he would love being her slave! And what a beautiful mistress she would make! He wondered if he had enough batteries for his vibrator. Deciding he should go check, he tiptoed out of the room through the secret door that connected their chambers. Just then, Franklin returned.

Taking husbandly care, he dipped a handkerchief into the cool water and dabbed it on Elizabeth’s dry lips. The moisture seeped between the pretty red buds and she swallowed. Then, breathing quietly, she opened her eyes.

“Oh. Franklin,” she said. “What happened? The last thing I remember was eating dinner.”

“You fainted,” he answered. “But don’t worry, you can stay here and rest for the rest of the evening. I don’t want you to outdo yourself when it’s so close to your time.”

As if to make the point, her unborn child kicked Elizabeth’s lungs viciously and she gasped for breath.

“Yes, it is close, isn’t it?” she said.

“Getting closer everyday, my love. Soon my son will be here. But for now, just rest. I’ll go down and pacify the Count. I’m sure he was looking forward to showing off his mansion to us.”

When Franklin left, Elizabeth lay quietly and tried to remember why she fainted. And she wondered when Franklin had begun speaking Spanish. Or had she heard him call her, “amore?” Now she couldn’t remember and it all seemed fuzzy. Deciding to forget the whole thing, she dropped off to sleep.

Sometime later, she was awakened by a soft, brushing sound, like palm fronds on a wall or bare feet across a wood floor. She tried to rouse herself but she had slept so deeply that it was hard to swim up out of the depths of it.

Suddenly a huge hand clapped down over her mouth, and she almost choked on her smothered scream. Rough hands pulled her from the bed and a dirty piece of cloth was tied around her head, blinding her to her attackers. A gag was shoved into her mouth, and she was prodded roughly along without fully understanding, she was pushed and pulled out the window and carried down a wrought iron lattice to the ground. Once there, her abductors rushed her along as fast as she could stumble.

It had all happened so fast that she had barely time to catch her breath, much less get hysterical. The puzzling thing was that her kidnappers had made no sound whatsoever, but had ensured total silence throughout her abduction. She had not the first clue as to who it might be.

Her unslippered feet stumbled along on the ground and she knew she was trampling the hem of her gown. She had begun to perspire in the warmth of the tropic evening and her skin was damp. The senses that surrounded her, coupled by her blindness made her almost dizzy, and if it weren’t for her captors she might have fallen.

Suddenly she was stopped by an iron hand on her arm, bruising her tender flesh through her clothing. For the first time, she heard low guttural voices, but couldn’t understand what they were saying. They seemed to be discussing what they were going to do, for several different voices entered in the conversation. Finally, a decision was made and Elizabeth found herself being picked up bodily and was deposited on the back of an ass. It was the first time she had ever sat on anyone else’s ass. With no help from her, the animal began to move forward, and she clung helplessly to its scrawny mane. She heard the muffled sound of other hoof beats on the hard ground, so she assumed there was a train of beasts carrying her and her guards somewhere.

The donkey moved slowly but insistently. The clip clop of his hooves sounded in her ears, then grew quieter as they moved on grass. Then foliage--great smooth leaves and narrow, wispy tendrils--brushed her face and startled her first one way, then another. She knew they were entering the jungle.

She didn’t know how long she traveled that way. After a while she seemed to doze, the hoof beats drumming in her ear and lulling her into a light stupor. Even the constant motion aboard the donkey only increased her fatigue, and she lost all track of time.

When the donkey finally stopped, it took her a moment before she realized it. By then rough hands were pulling her off the little animal’s back, and she stood tiredly. New voices muttered and chanted about her, and she shrank back from the surrealistic feeling that scores of people were pressing close about her. Finally hand grasped her waist, and pulled her stumbling across the ground. She was dragged several yards, then stopped unceremoniously, and suddenly her blindfold and gag were stripped off.

She gasped audibly at the sight around her. Several fires burned high in a cleared area, with the dark silhouettes of people standing or moving eerily among the flames. Converging close in front of her were several tall, black skinned men, each painted with slashes of bright and horrible masks that made Elizabeth choke with fear. The masks were huge, distorted faces with twisted, animalistic characteristics, and they sent shivers of terror down Elizabeth’s spine.

To make matters worse, at least six sinewy-muscled men stood in close ranks around her, blocking any avenue of retreat like a living cage. Their skin glistened ebony in the dancing firelight, and Elizabeth was reminded of her abduction in Africa. The only difference was that a sense of orgiastic violence permeated the air, and she feared she would not escape unharmed. Last time her only wound was a sore throat. This time she was not sure if she would survive at all.

Before she had time to take in the full impact of her predicament, the masked savages began to finger the remnants of her gown .She shrank back from their curious hands, horrified to see her beautiful gown in shreds. The hem was torn and covered with dirt, and the sleeves and bodice were ripped in places from her blind journey. The men touched each rip carefully, and even ventured to feel her bulging stomach in a bold way.

Suddenly, the fingers were no longer cautious and curious, but heedless and demanding, and Elizabeth was horrified to find her gown being ripped from her body in rents. The green velvet fell in shreds about her feet until she stood naked and pregnant in the savage firelight.

The sight of her body seemed to incite the natives with wild desires. They danced more frantically about the clearing and the pitch of drums rose to a speeding tattoo. The masked man in front of her jabbered and talked excitedly and jumped up and down. Each exclaimed loudly over the white woman, pointing all the time, until finally they seemed to come to a decision.

The entire enflamed multitude then grabbed various parts of her body and dragged her into the center of the clearing. She fought madly, swinging her belly this way and that, but to no avail. With all her protests, she was pulled unceremoniously toward the largest fire. Two brawny, masked men held one of her wrists each and pulled so that she stood spread-eagled in front of the fire. The rest of the natives formed a huge semi-circle across the flames from her, chanting and swaying to a heathen rhythm. The nearness of the fire and the heightening frenzy of the people made Elizabeth feel hot and flushed, and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and on her belly. She felt nauseated and about ready to faint.

Suddenly a woman’s scream rent the air and sent ungodly shivers down her spine. She involuntarily twisted her body so she could see behind her, in the direction of the scream, and she gasped in dismay. Standing behind her and wearing nothing but a mask too horrible for description was a large, glistening man, and he was walking purposefully toward her.

She tried to wrench free but the hands of her captors held her tight. She thrashed frantically, panic ringing her eyes with white and shooting adrenaline in to her blood. She was dismayed to realize she was sweating from every orifice and was drenched with perspiration.

She threw her head back and saw the man approaching closer. The nostrils of his mask were flared and ringed with color like a heated stallion, and the eyeholes were dark and shadowy, yet lit from within by a strange light. The mouth was large and twisted in a cruel, downward wrench, wild and demanding. To make things worse, Elizabeth noticed the man’s flagpole standing at attention, and he carried strange implements of torture in his hands.

She screamed, the desperate cry ringing through the treetops. The echoes died away amid the rumblings of the drums and the chanting of the natives.

Suddenly icy fingers of fear tapped Elizabeth’s spine, and she knew the man--the Witch Doctor--stood directly behind her. She stood petrified, afraid to breathe or hope. What were they going to do?

Then she felt it--something cold and bluntly pointed jabbed into her buttock. She jumped, but her captors tightened their grip on her. The object described an arc across the top of her left buttock, down into her crack, then up over the curve of her right buttock. She couldn’t decide what the object was, whether it was a blunt knife or some sort of staff, but the feel of it caressing her flesh drove her mad with apprehension. Undoubtedly the witch doctor was performing some tribal rite, but how would it end?

She felt the object go up her spine, all the way to the nape of her neck, then in a circle over each wing muscle. There was more pressure, small, unorganized dots all over her skin, and then the witch doctor uttered some unintelligible order, and she was turned around toward him. He had held the object at her side, and as she was turned it slid along her flesh, so if it had been a knife it would have cut her in half. But it wasn’t a knife. It was a grease pencil.

“Good grief,” she said.

“Silence!” ordered the Witch Doctor. He looked at her sharply, as sharply as he could with that wooden mask covering his face.

“You speak English!” she sputtered.

“Of course,” said the Witch Doctor as he drew concentric circles around her belly button. “Do you think we’re a bunch of illiterates?”

“But what are you doing?” she asked. The grease pencil wound its way up her stomach between her breasts.

“Shhhh,” he said. “This is a very serious solemn rite and you aren’t allowed to babble while it’s going on.”

“But what is the rite? Why are you drawing on me?”

“Our people are oppressed and subjugated by the Europeans, and we need a sign that the gods favor us and will help us build back our strength so we may defeat them. It was written in the beginning of our people’s time that one day a shining goddess would deliver to us a golden leader who would lead us against our enemies. You are the goddess, and you carry our leader.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. She was about ready to call bullshit on this sun goddess crap. “This is my baby and the only thing he’s going to lead for awhile is the afterbirth.”

“He is Manacotti,” the Witch Doctor insisted.

“What does that mean?”

“He-who-slips-from-golden-ferned-thighs-and causes-thunder-in-the-mountains-when-he-humps-maiden.”

“Oh,” said Elizabeth. The Witch Doctor drew flowers around her nipples and wrote ‘Kilroy was here’ over her appendix. Then he proceeded to draw two vertical lines on her stomach then two horizontal lines crossing the first. With a deft hand he drew an X in the center of the lines, then handed the pen to Elizabeth.

“Your turn,” he said.

The guard on her right released her hand and she took the pen. She studied the ancient tribal markings for a moment, then placed an O in the upper right hand corner.

“My turn,” said the Witch Doctor, and he took the pen back. He drew an X in the lower right hand corner and handed her the pen again.

Elizabeth placed more O’s on the ritual playing board, not at all sure she was doing it correctly. The Witch Doctor gave away nothing by his expression, which remained wooden, but placed his marks without comment. The chanting and swaying of the people had stopped at some point Elizabeth couldn’t remember, and the clearing was hushed with expectation.

Suddenly, the Witch Doctor stood up tall in front of Elizabeth, the pen in his hand, and slashed a black line through his three X’s in a row. With that motion, the people let out a cheer and a whoop that rocked the birds out of the trees. The noise frightened Elizabeth, and she looked about frantically.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“I won,” he said proudly.

“What does that mean?”

“You lost.”

“I want a rematch.” She struggled, but the guards had tight hold on her wrists again. “What are you going to do?”

The Witch Doctor pulled out a huge curved knife from somewhere, and it gleamed in the moonlight. He held it poised in his hand, a statue of doom.

“It’s time for us to have our savior,” he said in a melancholy voice

Elizabeth screamed. The Witch Doctor stepped closer, the knife curving down toward her protruding belly. She tried to suck her stomach in, but no go, it just wouldn’t suck. As the knife made a slow downward arc in front of her, she closed her eyes and held her breath.

“Now,” said the Witch Doctor, “don’t step over this line.” Elizabeth opened her eyes to see he had drawn a line around her feet. The knife was jammed into the ground almost to the hilt.

The Witch Doctor snapped his fingers and the guards released Elizabeth’s wrists. Before she could flee however, he had grabbed hold of her himself. Being careful not to smear the line in the dirt, he turned her away from him and held her by the wrist.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a frightened voice. She was still afraid the knife might be used on her or her baby. The baby, by the way, was kicking furiously now.

“Inducing labor,” he said. “Have you ever done it doggy-style?”

“What?” she almost screamed. But before she could get an intelligible answer out of him he had rammed his inducer in as far as he could.

“Ulp,” Elizabeth said. She felt as though she would burst, being so full of baby and baby-inducer all at once. The Witch Doctor’s hands were firm but sweaty on her hips, and he moved her forward and back, being careful to stay inside the line. Elizabeth thought vaguely that this must be what it felt like to be a crayon.

Suddenly she felt pricks (small ones) in her buttocks almost like someone was sticking pins in her tender flesh. She looked back and someone was sticking pins in her tender flesh. The Witch Doctor!

“Ouch!” she said. “I thought you only stuck pins in dolls here.”

“That’s passé. Acupuncture is going over very big here. Especially during savior-birthing. Do you feel anything yet?”

She had to admit that she did. Aside from the usual feelings (small fingers of pleasure titillating her nerve endings, shivers of anticipation going up and down her spine, and wet, sticky stuff on the inside of her thighs) she felt the earth move inside her uterus. Actually, it wasn’t the earth, it was the baby, but it was so heavy it felt like the earth. The little fart was turning slow somersaults and occasionally Elizabeth staggered as she was caught off balance.

“Don’t step out of the circle!” the Witch Doctor said. He was panting now, and not really much of a steadying influence.

“I’m trying not to,” she said, “but it’s hard.”

“I know!” he gasped.

Suddenly, about the time she expected him to groan and collapse, he let out a blood-curdling scream that reminded her of the panicked squeal of a rabbit, or a closet-queen getting kicked in the balls. In a twinkling his voodoo wand had shriveled to nothing and she felt a distinct draft up her receptacle.

“What happened?” she asked. The Witch Doctor was no longer in the circle with her, but dancing about holding his pee-pee in his hands. She thought it must be some part of the ritual he hadn’t explained to her.

“He bit me!” the Witch Doctor howled.

“Who bit you?” she asked.

“That brat of yours! He bit my magic staff!”

Elizabeth began to laugh, which only seemed to infuriate the Witch Doctor all the more. Her laughter faded when he reached for the knife stuck into the ground.

“This is no time for frivolity!” he said in a menacing voice.

Just then, Elizabeth’s baby kicked her in the diaphragm as hard as he could, and she clutched her breast and doubled over with the pain. At the same time, her cervix decided to get in to the act and pulled so that her toes got charley horses in them. Half- unconscious, she fell to the ground, luckily not falling on the pins still stuck in her buttocks.

The Witch Doctor dropped the knife and yelled loudly to his people.

“It has begun,” he said, with upraised hands. “The leader is coming! Our savior will soon be among us!”

The people let out a cheer that was deafening.

Elizabeth passed out. The contractions were horribly painful, as if her child was already scraping at life. The last thing she remembered seeing was a convergence of people around her.

When she woke up, she was settled cozily on a bedding of wild pigskin, padded with palm fronds. Two old women stood nearby, one with a palm fan and one with a damp rag to bathe her forehead. She was laid back in the soft cushion inside a grass hut, and her legs were up and apart in a very unladylike position. She closed her knees.

“Awk!” said one of the women, and she grabbed Elizabeth’s knees and forced them apart again. As soon as she let go, Elizabeth brought her knees together. The women pulled them apart again, and Elizabeth closed them. Finally the woman said, “Humpf!” and stalked outside.

Elizabeth felt satisfied that she had won that point until she saw the woman return with the Witch Doctor in tow. He had a different mask on now, one whose features were not quite so awful. He also wore a breechcloth.

The woman looked smugly at Elizabeth, grabbed her knees and wrenched them apart like a pearl diver after a pearl. Elizabeth immediately went to close them, but the Witch Doctor stepped forward with a nasty-looking staff with a skull fixed on top of it and shook it at her.

“Assume the position of motherhood!” he said in a thundering voice.

“That’s indecent!” she retorted.

“It’s also necessary for the birth of a child. Now open your knees or shall I force them open?” He shook his lance at her--the one with the skull on it--and she opened her knees. Just then another pain assailed her--a horrible, wrenching pain and with an anguished cry, she fainted.

When she came to the next time, she heard a low, murmuring chanting from outside the hut. The two women still sat close by, and the Witch Doctor stood at the door. The sound of hundreds of low, rhythmic voices seemed to surround the hut in a surrealistic ocean.

“What--what is going on outside?” she asked petulantly.

“The people are waiting for their savior to be born. Can’t you hurry?”

“I don’t thinks so,” she said. “Every time I have a pain, it hurts so bad, I faint. Do you have any ancient, tribal medicine, or even some aspirin?”

“No, we don’t believe in that hocus-pocus. You just have to grin and bear it.”

“I can’t grin,” she said.

“Well, then, just bear it.”

“The pain, or the baby?”

“Both.”

“Oh.”

A knifeslit of pain tore across her lower abdomen and she passed out again.

The next time she woke up, she heard a terrible din outside, yelling and crashing and general sounds of tumult. She pushed herself up on one elbow to try and see.

“What’s happening now?” she asked.

“We’re being attacked by those asshole Europeans,” the Witch Doctor said angrily. “I wish you’d hurry up and have the baby. That would inspire the people to fight with a wild, zealous fervor.”

“Why aren’t you out there fighting? Don’t they look to you for guidance?”

“Fight?” the Witch Doctor said. “And get myself killed? That’s for peons.”

“Oh.” Her thoughts returned to the Europeans. “Is there a tall, dark-haired handsome man out there fighting?” would Franklin save her this time?

“Yes, and a short, greasy Spaniard alongside. He is fighting with a dildo or something.”

“How thoughtful,” she mused. The Count had come to fight for her too.

“How is the battle going?” she asked.

“Not well. The people are falling back, and more Europeans are breaking into the village.” He looked at her impatiently. “When are you going to have the baby? Perhaps I could take it from you. That would really rally the troops.”

At that point she had another searing pain and passed out again. When she awoke the next time, she was afraid to open her eyes. She was afraid the Witch Doctor might have performed some awful ancient surgery and taken her baby. When she finally looked down though, she was still fat as ever.

The peculiar thing was that the women were gone--and the Witch Doctor. She was alone in the hut. She listened for sounds of battle, but heard only occasional far-off shouts. What was going on, she wondered. Through the grass hut door she could see nothing.

Suddenly she heard a shout very close to her hut--a European shout.

“Here’s one still standing,” the voice said. Was it Franklin? She raised herself up on one knee and tried to call to him.

“Frank--” she started but her voice was low from her exhaustion. She cleared her throat to try again.

Before she could speak against the wall of the hut began to smoke. Then she heard the dry grass begin to crackle, like tinder dry wood.

“That’s the last of them!” the deep voice outside said to his comrades. “Now let’s go after those bastards that kidnapped my wife.”

It was Franklin! And he had set her hut on fire! She tried again to call to him, but her cry came out strangled and incoherent. As the flames began to climb the wall of the hut and spread across the width of it, a new pain grabbed her battered body and crushed her into oblivion.

CHAPTER 11

Franklin was distraught. He held the limp hand of the body of his “wife” and made funny groaning noises deep in his throat. The Count and all the other rescuers from town stood around in a respectable circle, their hats off as they stared down at the dirty, bruised, ash-covered fat and naked body of the white woman. There wasn’t a dry eye in the clearing, or a limp dick, either.

“She was so young, so alive,” Franklin wailed.

“And so beautiful,” the Count added. He was wondering how best to manage the funeral arrangements and how soon he could arrange to have the body brought to his secret room. Dead or not, the white woman haunted his soul and he would have her! He was a weird dude.

“And my son--my son will never be born now. My entire family gone in the twinkling of an eye!”

Franklin moaned in an anguished voice as he kissed and cried over his wife’s hand.

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth asked crossly. “You know very well you have other family--Benjamin, for one.”

An ecstatic cry of surprise and relief went up in the clearing and the men all grinned happily to each other.

“The Senora is alive!” the Count exclaimed.

“You’re alive!” Franklin said.

“Of course I’m alive, no thanks to you. You almost burned me alive in that hut.”

“I know, but luckily I heard your scream and I rushed in to find you.”

“I screamed?” she asked.

“Yes. Don’t you remember?”

“No. I got this terrible pain and I....” Just then another contraction assailed her, and her voice choked off in a strangled cry and she went out again.

It went like that for a while. Elizabeth would regain consciousness for brief periods, then black out with each new contraction. Franklin was at first visibly ecstatic over the fact that she was in labor, but then increasingly worried over the pains. The Count sent for a doctor to examine her.

“Is she going to be all right?” Franklin asked.

“Asi asi,” said the doctor.

“What?” asked Franklin.

“He said ‘so-so,’” explained the Count.

The doctor shrugged as if to emphasize and began to pack up his stethoscope.

“Wait,” said Franklin, “isn’t there anything you can do? Can’t you give her something to relieve the pain?”

The doctor let loose a tirade of Spanish at Franklin, none of which the distraught man understood.

“What did he say?” Franklin asked the Count.

“He said there is nothing he can do for her. She must be strong and bear the pain as well as she can. He has no medicine to give her.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Franklin exploded. “I thought you people were civilized here! You must have something for pain, an Empirum III or something!”

The Count shook his greasy little head. “Nada,” he said sadly. Just then Elizabeth woke up. “Ohhh,” she said. “Where am I?”

“In your room, darling,” Franklin said. “You’re going to be all right.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to be out of that jungle,” she said. “It was awful there, being part of that ceremony.”

“What did they do?” Franklin asked. He leaned over close so she wouldn’t have to speak up.

“Oh, terrible things. They stripped me naked and stuck pins in me and drew lines on me, and . . . and....”

“Yes, go on,” he urged.

“Oh, Franklin, it was awful! That Witch Doctor--ravished me!”

“The filthy bastard!”

“Yes, and luckily he pulled out early because he got bit by--” Just then a pain took her, and she clutched her stomach in agony and fainted.

“What bit him?” the Count asked. But she was unconscious.

“I don’t know,” Franklin said. “Maybe that’s what they mean by a red snapper.”

Franklin was so upset by the lack of medical provisions that he rounded up his crew and arranged to set sail on the evening tide. It was only three days to Charleston harbor and he knew there would be a doctor there. He had had enough of this backward island.

The next time Elizabeth awoke she was dressed warmly and propped up comfortably in the Count’s hansom. The clip clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones was music to her ears.

“Franklin,” she said hesitantly, “are we leaving the island?”

“Yes, dear,” he said. “On the evening tide, which is at 7:26 p.m. tonight.”

“Oh, good. Are we going home? I want to have my baby at home. Can we go back to England, Franklin?”

“No, not England. We’re going to America. You couldn’t possibly stay in labor the entire way back to England.”

“If I keep my knees pressed tight together?”

“No, dear. We’re going to America. We’ll be there in just two or three days, weather permitting.”

“Oh.” She had so hoped he was taking her home. A t least in England Benjamin would have a better chance of finding her. Now she had her doubts that he would ever see her or the baby again.

Elizabeth was carried up the gangplank by Franklin and settled comfortably in his cabin. He made sure she had plenty of blankets, pillows, and bullets to bite on, and a flask of brandy at her elbow. Just after she assured him she was all right, she fainted again.

When she came to, the ship was bobbing on its way toward America. Elizabeth could see out the porthole that it was dark, so apparently they had caught the tide with no trouble. She hoped there would be no delays, so she could have her baby on firm ground. As a reminder, he socked her kidney and she almost peed in her pants.

Franklin came down and brought her a tray with dinner. He sat beside her and watched concernedly while she picked at her food.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine. Will it really be two or three days before we reach a port?”

“I’m afraid so. There’s clouds building up on the northeast, but I’m hoping it’s just a squall that will blow over before we get there.”

“Well, it seemed to me that we were riding a little rougher than usual, but I thought I was just edgy.”

“No, the water is a bit choppy. We shouldn’t have any trouble though. Don’t you worry about that. It’s your job to worry about our son, and that’s enough for now.”

Elizabeth no longer argued with him about the paternity of her child. If she never saw Benjamin again, what difference did it make if she carried his child or not? Instead, she relegated herself to motherhood as a--what?--a married mistress?

When she pushed away the tray, Franklin set it aside and patted her hand comfortingly.

“Rest now, dear,” he said.

She nodded and watched him as he took the tray out. She figured he just didn’t want to watch her faint again.

She awoke late in the middle of the night. The ship rocked forcefully, rolling her on the cushioned bunk. Franklin had not been to bed, and she wondered what he was doing up on deck this time of night. Feeling restless, she got up and walked carefully to the porthole. It was pitch dark outside, but rain streaked the glass. It looked like they were going to run into the storm after all. She hoped it wouldn’t make things too rough aboard the ship.

Sometime later she was awakened in her bunk by being thrown soundly against the wall. The baby began to kick furiously and it was difficult for her to get comfortable again. The ship was rolling wildly though and, she could hear things falling and clattering on the floor. Even the pounding of the waves could be heard outside. Then above the noise of the storm, she heard a low muttering, like dissension above decks. She heard the arguing, but could not make out the words.

Just then the ship took a great roll, and she was thrown into the wall again, more forcefully than before. Her back slammed into the wood, and she knew her tender flesh would be bruised before she was done.

Franklin burst through the door with a barely flickering candle and stood there trying to keep his feet.

“Elizabeth?” he whispered hoarsely. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He came to her side and sat down, still holding the candle. It was so dark in the cabin, with no moonlight at all filtering in through the porthole.

“We’re going to hit the worst of the storm, I’m afraid. It veered our way and now there’s no way around it. Do you think you’ll be all right?”

“Yes, I think so, if I can just stay in bed, but I probably ought to have more pillows so I don’t keep slamming into the wall. I don’t want the baby to be retarded.”

“I’ll get you some, “ Franklin said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, not that I can think of.” Then she remembered the voices she had heard. “Are the men angry about something? I thought I heard arguing.”

Franklin frowned, the candlelight making deep shadows in the furrows of his face.

“I suppose you ought to know,” he said. “The men don’t want to go on. They want me to turn back to the island.”

“Because of the storm?”

“Yes. Apparently these Caribbean storms are notoriously bad and they say if we go on we’ll be inundated. We’ll also have lots of water in the ship.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I’ve got to go on. I can’t let you go through the agony of childbirth without a qualified physician in attendance.”

“Oh, Franklin, how sweet of you,” she said. Imagine him risking his life for her! How thoughtful!

“Well, I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but I’ve got to try. I should go back up on deck. Here are some more blankets. Will you be all right?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about me.”

Before Franklin had the blankets arranged, she had already passed out from a new pain.

It was quite a bit later when she awoke again. The darkness was not quite so dense but it still looked dismal and gray outside. She rolled about uncomfortably on the bunk, but at least she had plenty of cushioning. The storm sounded worse outside with the waves crashing against the hull of the ship and a stab of lightning flashing every once in a while. She didn’t hear any commotion from up top, however, and that was comforting. Perhaps Franklin had quelled the men’s discontent.

Just then he burst through the door and at once Elizabeth knew he was soaking wet. He sloshed when he walked and his boots squeaked.

“Franklin!” she cried. “You must change your clothes. You’ll catch your death like that!”

“No time.” He said in an exhausted voice. “I have to steer the ship through the storm.”

“Let one of the men do that. You need to rest and regain your strength.”

“There aren’t any men left.”

“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.

“They all mutinied. They refused to go on into the teeth of the storm, so put I them overboard in the life boats.”

“Do you mean that you’re piloting the ship alone?” she gasped.

“Yes. But don’t worry, dear. We’ll get through. I may be a blackguard and a bounder, but I’m also an excellent seamen and very good-looking. We’ll get through.”

He’s also crazy, Elizabeth thought. “Franklin,” she said. “Do be careful.”

“I will.”

Elizabeth spent the following hours in agony. While she tried to sleep, the baby kicked and turned and did somersaults in her stomach and was generally inconsiderate. Whenever she awoke, she sat fitfully in her blankets, trying not to get pitched out of the bunk onto the floor. Beside the rolling of the ship, she was preoccupied with Franklin and his single-handed (or maybe he used two) sailing of the ship through the storm. She feared for him and for her baby as well. Would he be able to steer the ship through the rolling waves to safety? Would he be able to keep standing at the wheel hour after hour, soaked with spray and tired beyond measure? Would they make port in time for the baby to be born in a doctor’s care?

At one point, Elizabeth’s thoughts began to play on her mind, and she imagined Franklin being swept off the bridge by a tremendous wave. Whatever would she do if that happened? What if she were left alone on the pilotless ship, helpless and in childbirth in the middle of the storm? Would she ever see land again?

Luckily, later on that second day at sea, Franklin came down to the cabin to get a swig of brandy. Just seeing him relieved her fears.

“How are you doing?” she asked anxiously. “Are we almost out of the storm?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see through the rain to tell.”

“Do you know how close we are to America?”

“No. The sextant is useless in the low clouds and my radar is broken. We’ll just have to get through as best we can.” He swigged brandy like it was going out of style.

“Is the rest of the ship holding together?”

“Not well. The main mast was shattered by a bolt of lightening and smashed the boom when it fell. All the bails are ripped to shreds and the lower cargo compartments are filling with water. The widgets are all rusted shut and the doohickeys are broken beyond repair.”

“Is that all?”

“No, the....”

“I don’t think I want to hear. Franklin, whatever are we going to do?”

“The best we can. How are you doing with the baby?”

“Not well. He kicks me all the time, and he’s dropped down so low he keeps standing on my kidneys. The pains are getting worse.”

“Hmmm.” Franklin said, sipping more brandy. “I’ll have to hurry the ship along then. Will you be all right alone?”

“I guess I’ll have to be, won’t I?” she said bravely.

“Yes, you shall,” he replied. “I must return to the bridge. I’ll check back with you later.”

He offered to leave the brandy, but she wanted none of it so he took the bottle with him. After he left, the pain began again, and she sorely wished she had it.

The storm raged on, tossing the ship about like a cork. Huge wind-whipped waves crashed over the bow of the ship and sent water running everywhere across the deck and down the hatches. Every sail was ripped from its mast, the masts splintered like matchwood. The ship limped through the high seas uncertainly.

The evening of the second day, Elizabeth awoke to find the cabin filling with water. At first she was terrified, thinking the ship was sinking and they would all die a watery death. Then she realized that her water had broken and had run out on the floor. Cursing beneath her breath, she got up to change the sheets on the bunk and threw the wet ones on the floor. After she lay down again, she began to wonder how much longer she could be in labor. It was really starting to be a drag.

She didn’t see Franklin all that night. She slept fitfully, waking at odd intervals and trying to determine the time from the density of the darkness. She lay quietly on her bed and prayed for Franklin to come and tell her he was all right, but he didn’t come.

The only familiar sounds were the thrashing of the storm and the sloshing of the water on the cabin floor. The baby farted and she felt like she had heartburn.

When she finally awoke and realized it was morning by the gray hue outside, she began to fret for Franklin. It had been well over twelve hours since she had seen him and she wondered if he was still on deck. Perhaps her terrible fantasies were coming true, and he had been swept overboard and she was alone on a derelict ship. Feeling eerie and afraid, she decided the she had to go up on deck and find out.

Fearful that walking might encourage the baby’s birth, she moved slowly and carefully. Luckily the rocking of the ship didn’t seem quite so bad, and she managed to reach the cabin door by grabbing onto handholds on the way. She pulled her wrapper about her and pulled the door open. Looking up at the steps she would have to climb, she prayed she would not be stricken with a pain before she reached the deck.

The steps were damp from the salt water they had absorbed, and cold on her bare feet. She gripped the handrail with shaking hands and pulled herself up by the strength of her arms. She tried not to put pressure on her lower body or take too large of steps, but she could feel her weight shifting. She stood greatly relieved when she reached the top of the stairs and got her breath.

She looked about the deck but couldn’t see around the cabin to the wheel. The rain soaked her immediately, plastering her light wrapper to her body. She chilled, but it was not as bad as she expected. The gray clouds lay heavy and unbroken in the sky, but

the terrible sound and lightning had abated.

Gathering her strength, she walked carefully along the outside wall of the cabin. Suddenly a pain took her, and she doubled over in agony. She felt the baby butting his head against her cervix and she willed herself to stay conscious. With super-human effort, she remained standing. When the worst of the pain subsided, she began again to creep toward the wheel. Finally, she gained the comer of the cabin and stopped there.

Franklin was there. He had strapped himself to the wheel and the brandy bottle lay wedged in between his feet. Elizabeth was at first relieved, then afraid again, for he was slumped over the wheel as if dead. Oh, God, she thought, had he died of exposure? Or drowned on the deck of his own ship? Was it for this that he had brought her halfway around the world?

“Franklin!” she yelled. “Franklin!”

He didn’t stir. Another contraction hit her, and she doubled up almost to the floor. Involuntarily her muscles were working, pushing the baby, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay on her feet. She thought the little fart had a terrible sense of timing.

It was painful for her to struggle across the deck. The closer she got to Franklin, the harder she strained to see if he was breathing. She couldn’t tell, and she did not have the strength left to call to him anymore. In slow, painful silence, she crept across the deck.

“Franklin,” she gasped when she reached him. Her voice was barely a whisper, and she clutched at the piece of tattered sail that bound him to the wheel. Still he showed no sign of life. Another contraction clutched her and she fell to the deck, her hands grabbing at Franklin hysterically.

“Franklin,” she said in her inaudible voice, “I can’t wait anymore. It’s coming. The baby is coming.”

Keeping her grip on Franklin’s boot, she abandoned herself to the natural motions that took control of her body. Her head swam with the pain and behind her closed eyelids she saw bursts of color. The contractions seemed to slice her body in half and wrench her insides out, and she really felt like she had to go Number Two. She clamped her teeth closed and bore down, as she had heard a woman must do, and bore her baby into the world.

Franklin’s brain barely perceived the sound of a baby crying. He had passed out after drinking himself into a drunken stupor. Now sound was registering in his head, and he opened his eyes.

The first thing that met his eyes was a rent in the clouds, through which poured a brilliant ray of sunlight. The beam shone magnificently down through the clouds, down directly onto the deck of the ship, and he followed it with his eyes to where it shone on the head of a baby. He could almost hear angels singing.

The baby began to cry.

“Elizabeth!” he said excitedly (Franklin, not the baby). “Elizabeth!” Frantically he pulled at the sail tied around him, but he had tied a double half hitch and the knot was soaked so he had a hell of a time. Meanwhile Elizabeth had regained her strength enough to sit up and pick up her baby. She held the tiny thing (tiny--9 lb. 7 ounces) to her breast and pushed the gook away from its face.

“Elizabeth!” Franklin said. He finally got pissed off and ripped what was left of the sail, then promptly fell on the floor. Overcome with emotion, he crawled to Elizabeth.

“My--my,” he stammered. “My--son?”

“It’s a boy,” she affirmed. The baby’s black hair shone in the celestial ray of sunlight as if crowned with a halo. With sturdy little hands, he reached up and grabbed his mother’s hair and pulled. Elizabeth turned her head away and tried to release her hair, but her eyes were caught by a different sight.

“Franklin!” she said. “Look!”

Franklin looked. To the west the clouds were ripping apart like strands of cotton and beneath them now showed the vestiges of land, and on the land--civilization.

“Is that America?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes,” shouted Franklin. “Yes! We made it! We made it through the storm and that’s Charleston!”

Franklin’s yelling made the baby cry, and Elizabeth tried to hush him.

“Franklin,” she said, “I think I should go back below deck and get some warm blankets around him. It’s too cold up here for him.”

“Nonsense, “ Franklin said. “He’s a sailor’s son. He can take it.”

She glared at him.

“Oh, all right. Come on. I’ll help you.”

Once Franklin had settled her and the baby comfortably in the cabin and brought fresh sheets and towels, he went back up on deck to steer the ship into port. Elizabeth busied herself with cleaning and wrapping the baby, singing and crooning to the little thing all the while. As tired and sore as she was, she was also blissfully happy.

She had already named her son Rathbone Basil Elliott, or Rath for short. That would be easy for old Ely to say, she thought. “What do you think your father would think of you, Rath?” she asked him. “But you know your father may never see you. We shall just have to keep our fingers crossed.”

She kept her finger, crossed, but it was hard to pin a diaper that way. Franklin came down once more to say they were nearing port and to be ready to disembark. They were both relieved to be done with the exhausting journey.

Franklin brought the Black Beauty expertly into port and threw down the gangplank himself. Once he was sure the boat had been securely tied, he went below for Elizabeth and Rath.

“Are you ready, my dear?” he said. Elizabeth nodded, her son wrapped warmly at her breast, and Franklin took her elbow. Together the handsome trio stepped off the ship onto American soil.

Some years before, Franklin had bought a place outside of Charleston, and he hired a buggy to drive them there. He had bought it against the time when he would no longer be a free man in England due to his outlaw ways. Now he was happy he had some place to take his family.

The place was a little dusty and musty from standing empty, but he quickly threw it open and helped Elizabeth clean up the master bedroom. With the money from the slaves he had sold to the Count, he promised her he would furnish the house with grand furniture, whatever was her desire. But he insisted the bed would have mirrors on the top.

In two days the house was clean and outfitted on a comfortable level with black slaves to care for it and Elizabeth. She had a nursemaid, a maid, a hairdresser and a seamstress. Franklin had seen to her every comfort and Rath was thriving. Franklin was even talking about selling his ship and settling down, buying more and more of the unimproved land bordering his own. On the outskirts of Charleston it was still wild and untamed, yet Franklin envisioned that it would not be long before the Indians were driven back and the land turned to gold.

One evening Franklin and Elizabeth sat contentedly eating dinner. The serving girl had placed the main dish before them and retreated back to the kitchen. Elizabeth sipped her wine and planned her day for tomorrow until Franklin interrupted her thoughts.

“Are you feeling back to normal, love?” he asked.

She turned considerate eyes to her husband’s brother.

“Yes,” she said. “I feel much improved.”

“Good.” He snaked one hand across the lace tablecloth and covered hers. “How about a roll in the hay?”

“Oh, Franklin,” she said. “Do you think we should? After all, it’s only been a week since Rath was born.”

“That’s plenty of time.” He touched his hand gently to her cheek, then to her breast. She blushed. “You know you were made for love, don’t you? This past week has been hell for me knowing that your body is vacant and waiting. Actually, I’ve got a terrible case of blue balls.”

“I don’t know....” she began.

Just then the doorbell rang. The black butler (he was actually dark brown) answered the door, then came into the dining room.

“A gentleman to see you, Masa,” he said. He had a funny look on his face.

Franklin got up, cursing under his breath and threw his napkin down. “Are you really trying to say, ‘Master,’ or are you calling me a tamale?”

“Say what?” the butler asked.

“Never mind. Damnation!” Franklin said. “Who the hell comes at this hour?” Franklin went into the foyer and Elizabeth resumed eating. She was just as glad for the interruption. Perhaps she would have more time to recover.

As she went to sip her tea, she heard a startled, “Egad!” from Franklin. She pushed her chair back and went into the foyer to see what had so surprised him.

Funny, she thought, I don’t remember hanging a mirror in the foyer. Then she realized she wasn’t seeing an image of Franklin.

“Benjamin!” she said happily. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him.

“I’m Benjamin,” said the man she had not hugged.

“Oh,” she said. She looked from one to the other. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure. Can’t you see how worn and weary I am from traveling halfway around the world to find you?”

“Oh, Benjamin,” she said. “I’m so glad you finally found me. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“Yes,” said Benjamin, looking about at the splendor of the house. “I can see you’ve been roughing it.”

“It’s been awful! I was kidnapped by highwaymen in France and recaptured by Franklin and abducted by savages in Africa and rescued by Franklin and stolen away by voodoo natives and saved by Franklin....”

“Where is my son?” he interrupted. “I heard you bore a son.”

“Oh, yes. Do you to want to see him? His name is Rathbone Basil Elliott, but Rath for short.”

She took a step toward the stairs but then a great thunder of hoof beats was heard up the front drive. The black servant opened the door to admit Farnbuck, Franklin’s man.

“Farnbuck!” said Franklin.

“Sir!” said Farnbuck.

“Aren’t you Pramburg?” Benjamin asked.

“No, this is Farnbuck,” Elizabeth said. “I already mistook him for Pramburg earlier.”

“What is it, Farnbuck?” Franklin asked.

“Well, sir,” said Farnbuck, casting an icy glance to Benjamin, “I came to tell you this man was here, just came into port, and was headed this way. But I see I’m too late.”

“That’s all right,” Franklin said. “I appreciate the effort.” Just then they heard more clattering of horses’ hooves and the black servant opened the door again. Trevor hurried in.

“Sir!” said Trevor to Franklin.

“No, you want him,” said Franklin, pointing to Benjamin.

“Trevor!” Elizabeth cried excitedly.

“Sir!” said Trevor again.

“Yes, Trevor, what is it?” Benjamin asked.

“Remember I told you I wished to leave your employ to get married, sir?” the trusty servant asked.

“Yes,” said Benjamin.

“Well, we’d like to get married as soon as possible, sir. Would tonight be too soon?”

“No, no, that’s fine. Where is the bride?”

“Outside, sir. May I...?”

“Yes, yes. Let’s have a look.”

Trevor opened the door and signaled to his waiting bride. Elizabeth thought surely Trevor would not have asked Christine to marry him? He had hardly seemed interested in her.

When Trevor turned back to face them, Pramburg stood proudly at his side.

“Pramburg!” said Elizabeth.

“Farnbuck!” said Franklin.

“It’s my long lost brother!” said Farnbuck.

“My long lost brother!” said Pramburg.

The two newly met brothers fell into each other’s embrace happily. Tears of joy ran down their faces, and Trevor beamed.

“It’s a very happy occasion, isn’t it?” he asked no one in particular.

Then the Magistrate arrived.

“I’m here to perform a wedding. Where is the happy couple?”

“Here,” said Trevor, and the bride took his place beside the groom.

“There are enough witnesses here,” said Benjamin, “now I want to see my son.”

“Of course,” said Elizabeth happily. She left the wedding party and Franklin, him scowling terribly over his brother’s arrival. Benjamin followed her up the richly carpeted stairs to the nursery. Going to the ornate crib, she lifted out her son and handed him to Benjamin.

Rath reached out and touched his tiny baby hands to Benjamin’s face, then farted. At the release of his gas he felt better and he smiled up at Benjamin.

“He is my son, isn’t he?” Benjamin asked.

“He’s mine!” said Franklin suddenly from the doorway. “Not only was he conceived by me on my ship, but he was birthed on my ship, and he’s my son!”

“No, mine!” said Benjamin.

“Mine!” insisted Franklin.

“Wait a minute,” Elizabeth screamed. “You’re acting like children.”

“Can you settle this?” Benjamin asked. “Do you know who is his father?”

“Well,” she said, “I’m not entirely sure, but I do have a feeling about it. Let me show you.”

Taking Rath, she pulled his blanket from around him, pulled off his diaper and held him up.

“Now that kid is really hung,” Benjamin said proudly. “That proves he’s mine!” He took Rath back and bounced him happily in his arms.

“All right,” said Franklin. “Maybe the brat is yours, so you can take him and go. But Elizabeth stays here.”

“Ha!” laughed Benjamin. “She’s my wife, by God and by law and you’ll not lay a finger on her again.”

“It’s not my finger I want to lay on her.”

“Or that, either,” said Benjamin. He put Rath down in his crib and discovered the baby had peed on his shirt. He turned to Elizabeth.

“Now that I’ve found you, I don’t intend to ever lose you again.” He reached out and pulled her close, his fingers burning her flesh on her bare shoulders, his eyes piercing the depth of hers. He pulled her to him and kissed her hungrily, searchingly. His breath was hot on her cheek and his hands were warm as they slid around her body. One hand strayed to her bosom where it gently caressed the swelling roundness of her breast, causing shivers to go down her spine.

“Oh, Benjamin, “ she breathed weakly. “It’s been so long.”

“I know, love,” he said. “Too long.” With expert precision he unbuttoned her gown from the back and it fell into a pile at her feet. She stood clad only in a tiny lace chemise, which barely veiled her generous charms.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Franklin asked snidely. The startled couple looked over, remembering him.

“What?” Benjamin scowled.

“Aren’t you forgetting,” said Franklin to Elizabeth, “that it was I who rescued you from the Africans, and I who cared for you during your pregnancy and I who saved you from the Santa Dominican natives and I who brought you safely through the storm? Not Benjamin, but me!”

“That’s true,” said Elizabeth thoughtfully.

“But it was I who married you after you were ravished by that bounder,” said Benjamin.

“That’s true, too,” she said.

“But it was my man who saved you from those French highwaymen when Benjamin sent you away,” Franklin said.

“But it was my man who loaned you a dress when you had nothing,” said Benjamin. “And,” he added slyly, “I was the one who inherited the family jewels, as you well know.”

“Yes, I know,” said Elizabeth.

“But,” said Franklin, “It’s I who have the French Tickler!”

“That tears it,” said Elizabeth. “Benjamin, I’m sorry, but I can’t go with you. I’m staying with Franklin.”

“What?” said Benjamin.

“Ha!” said Franklin.

“How can you do that?” Benjamin asked. “How can you leave your own lawfully wedded husband for a pirate and a rogue?”

“Well, actually,” said Elizabeth, “he has this really cute German Shepard....”

Little did they know as they discussed Elizabeth’s future that her fate hung in the balance. Gathering outside in the cover of the plantation bushes were Indians, savage red men who would not be pushed west by the white civilization, and who had seen the beauty of the golden-haired white woman.

“Ug,” said the Chief, Stands in the Rain. “You guys go around front of white man house and make disturbance. Spotted Bear and Farts Under Blanket come with me to the back and when the white men run outside, I will get the white woman. I will have the sun-haired one for my wife. Everybody understand his maneuver?”

“Ug,” said one.

“Ug.”

“Ug.”

“Good. Synchronize watches and go.”

* * *