BETRAYAL

By

Moira Wallace

© copyright January 2006, Moira Wallace

Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright January 2006

ISBN 1-58608-808-4

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

The Caribbean, April 1745

The air settled, thick and oppressive, over the seaside. Thick clouds scudded across the dark sky, pregnant with the promise of cooling rain. Blair Garnier sat at the table in his cramped and hot room at the inn, waiting for his dinner that had yet to arrive. His parched throat burned from thirst, but he had naught even a glass of water to appease it. He detested this place with the constant noise and smell that assaulted his senses through the casement window.

Blair would have closed it against the intrusion, but it was the only thing keeping the small chamber from becoming a stifling prison, slight though the breeze was. He felt cramped in this hellhole of a room, hot beneath his clothing, soaked through with his own sweat. The sound of vermin scurrying about the place only drew him deeper into the black mood, which descended upon him with unbearable weight.

The physical discomfort he suffered paled in comparison to the heavy weight of anguish that plagued his mind night and day. Years had passed since the senseless death of his parents. He had spent every spare moment scouring the eastern seaboard in search of the bastards that had murdered them, with little luck of finding any answers.

The harbourmaster who discovered their bodies surmised that they had been in the village by the port making some purchases, came across some pirates looting a storehouse, and discovered that these criminals were not inclined to let innocents live. Blair recalled the man’s careful voice with a bitter frown.

He slammed his fist upon the scarred writing desk and rose swiftly from the chair, a low, frustrated growl echoing in his throat. It was dark now; only a single taper remained lit against the encroaching night. Blair glared at his shadowed reflection in the mirror above the desk. Looking away from the amber eyes that stared back at him, he raked a hand impatiently through his dark hair and prayed for the chambermaid to arrive soon, lest he expire of thirst.

Tortuga was not a place he was wont to venture; it seethed with pirates and whores and filth and decay. However, it was known for harbouring the worst villains in the Spanish Main, and was the last place he could think of to come for answers. A shiny gold coin went a long way in coaxing information from those not inclined to give it. So far, he had been unable to find anybody who would point him in the right direction but he refused to surrender.

He should have married a good woman like his parents told him. Then he would never have been riding Bérard to meet with Jean. They would never have had to visit the farrier for him after his horse threw a shoe. They would never have encountered those pirates. They would still be alive.

A painful spasm ripped through him at these thoughts, and the guilt swept over him anew.

Unable to look at his face as it twisted in a mask of grief, he paced the room for a time, trying to put his mind to other matters, but none would come.

He felt suffocated; the four walls surrounding him seemed to bow inwards, closing him in. The white plaster walls quickly became prison bars and the air grew stifling. Shaking his head, he decided that he needed to leave and fetch something to quench his thirst.

He quit his room in favour of the tavern below, which, though noisy and crowded, was at least spacious enough not to smother him.

Once in the tavern, Blair sat at a table back within the shadows of a corner. From this vantage point, he could observe the comings and goings of all those that entered or left the place. His subtle nod beckoned a serving girl to bring him ale, and though she attempted to give him a coy smile and bent to better display her ample boson, he gave her no heed, and once again turned to his only companion of late, his restless thoughts. He was growing exhausted of treading the same well-worn paths, but he could think of little else to divert himself. He was a man bent on revenge, and nothing could give him solace until he had it.

With a weary sigh, he propped his elbows upon the tabletop, and buried his face in his hands. There was small ray of hope in his mind, though. It was trading season, and there were bound to be a dozen more ships in the harbour tomorrow.

A huge hand suddenly clamped down on his broad shoulder, startling Blair and causing him to reach instinctively for the sword kept close at his side.

“Blair!” exclaimed a familiar voice.

He looked up to the gap-toothed grin of Jean DeMarco.

“Yer friend of a half-score of years or more, known ye since we came ashore near yer home, and ye attack me as if I were naught but a common thief!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Blair took his hand from where it rested on the hilt of the blade and instead, handed it to the other man, who took it in a hearty grip before seating himself on the opposite side of the table.

“Sorry, Jean, but one can’t be too careful with all these murderers and cutthroats about. Damned criminals, they all are. Whatever brings you to Tortuga? You’re no pirate.”

“Nay, but the ship sprung a leak and closest to us was Tortuga, so here we are to careen her afore we can warp out again. I’m glad to have found ye, though. Fancy meeting ye in a place like this, though.”

“Mmm....” Blair gave a half-hearted smile of thanks when the serving girl arrived with his drink, and Jean was quick to ask for one himself.

“I’ve some news for ye, Blair,” he suddenly said, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Blair nodded for his friend to continue. Though their visits were rare, between Blair travelling on his search and Jean engaged full-time as captain of his own merchant vessel, he trusted the other man to keep him informed of what was happening in the world at large. “There’s word that yer old friend Robbie Cooke has turned ye in to some pirates. He figured if he let ‘em know ye was searchin’ for any pirates what been in Virginia, they’d offer him a fine reward. Enough to pay off his gamblin’ debts to ye.”

“That bloody cheating little swine!” Blair snarled, slamming his tankard down upon the table. The serving girl glared at him from across the room as a goodly portion of the ale sloshed out. “I knew he’d find a way to welsh on his debt to me and have me killed in the process … he oughtn’t have played with me if he knew he couldn’t repay the debt.”

“He’s a fool, Blair; ye know that. I thought I’d warn ye. I can’t be sure who it is that’s lookin’ for ye.”

Blair let a sharp breath out between clenched teeth and nodded to his friend, looking up to meet his concerned gaze.

“No matter, Jean. I should welcome any pirate who seeks me. I have been searching for nigh on five years now, with nary a clue to lead me in the right direction. ‘Twould seem the authorities have made little progress in the matter, either. The redcoats gave up on the search soon after I left Virginia. They said that there was little chance of them ever finding the villains, if they were pirates. No witnesses, no clues … only the speculation of that man that found them, and I cannot even be certain of that. Whoever killed them was clever, I’ll give them that.”

Jean looked out then through a small, dirty casement window behind Blair and frowned. “Well, I’ve warned ye, Blair, so take care of yerself. But I’d best be going afore that storm breaks,” he said, gesturing to the sky beyond the glass, which had grown ominously dark since black clouds had moved to conceal the moon. A fitful breeze had sprung up and now slapped the branches of a palm outside against the leaded pane of the window.

Blair followed Jean’s concerned gaze and nodded in agreement. “Aye, before the storm finds you stranded here. And many thanks for the warning, Jean. I shall keep a watchful eye open.”

“Ye do that … yer as stubborn as an old mule, sometimes, but yer a good friend,” Jean said as he rose from his seat.

Blair gave a dry laugh at this remark, but made no comment as he watched his friend hurry from the tavern and into the restless night.

For a moment, he was lost in his own meandering thoughts before being startled back into reality when he absently took a sip of his ale. He grimaced, finding that it had gone warm in the course of his musings. Spitting it back into the tankard, he rose to return to his room. He would await his dinner there.

Upstairs, in his rented chamber, he fell back on the straw-filled pallet with a groan, flinging a muscular forearm across his brow, as if he could block the hundreds of thoughts that seemed to riddle his brain and torment his solitude. This was no life for him. He missed the country, the plantation, the wide-open skies, and rich earth. He was sick of the travel, the moving from place to place, as he followed vague bits of information and empty promises, always resulting in another discouraging dead end. He feared he might never return; that he might be adrift forever, and eventually lose contact with whatever life he had known. However, never once did the thought cross his mind to give up what was increasingly appearing to be a wild-goose chase, and return to the plantation.

But what pirates were looking for him? Who would take the word of a debt-ridden and highly suspect man like Robbie? Blair knew of many who frequented these islands, but there was one whose name escaped him, a man known to be highly dangerous to those who crossed his path.

A small tapping on the portal door interrupted his musings. He rose with a heavy sigh to answer it. A young chambermaid stood on the other side, bearing a covered tray from which an enticing aroma arose. Blair’s stomach rumbled in anticipation, and he quickly welcomed the girl inside. She moved to set the tray upon the writing desk. Turning about, she bobbed a quick curtsy. “Your dinner, milord.”

“My thanks to you, Miss....”

“Emily, milord,” she was quick to reply. He smiled and turned to lift the cover. A delicious array of local fare met his inspection: slices of roast pork, a platter of fresh pineapple, mango and bananas, some sugared almonds and a bottle of fine white wine. He was about to turn and tell her that she might take her leave when he became aware of whispered voices in the hallway beyond the door. Emily had noticed as well and made for the door as if to see who was there.

“Wait....” Blair was just in the process of stopping her when suddenly there came a great crash and the wooden portal bowed on its hinges, before finally splitting beneath the onslaught. The old rusted lock could not bear such abuse and snapped. A dozen large, shabby men suddenly piled into the room, cutlasses and pistols drawn. Blair felt his heart drop. These must be the pirates Jean spoke of.

Emily shrieked in terror and Blair stepped forward to set her behind him, facing the intruders himself.

“What do you want?” he demanded, inconspicuously setting his hand on the hilt of his sword. The men were not so easily fooled, and one of the buccaneers, a younger fellow, drew a pistol on him before he could draw his sword.

“Take yer hand from yer sword, mate, afore me finger tires and ye find yerself with a hole in yer head.”

Reluctantly, Blair raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. Satisfied, the young pirate came forth with ropes, presumably to bind Blair’s wrists. The other pirates cast their eyes to the chambermaid, who cowered in the corner, eyes darting about the room as if she sought some escape.

When her eyes met his in a brief instant, he saw gratefulness in her gaze, and he could well understand that she had not likely ever had anyone come to her defence in her short life. He stayed well in front of her as he cast a wary eye to the young pirate coming forth to truss him. His eyes narrowed in a predatory glare that the buccaneers seemed to miss. A muscle twitched in his jaw; his body tensed, and he waited, poised, until the opportune moment presented itself and indeed, it did. The young pirate was careless and took his eyes from Blair for a moment to take in the chambermaid.

In a movement so swift that nary a person noticed, Blair’s arms shot forward, grabbed the pirate about the neck and twisted him until he dropped to his knees. Within the next second, he snatched the pistol from the captor’s belt and jammed the gaping barrel against his temple.

Blair was not the sort of man to relinquish himself so easily. Long months of frustration had finally built up inside of him, and he could contain it no longer. His heart hammered in his chest, and he wondered wildly if he had finally found his answers. These pirates would give them, or by God, he would blow this man’s head off his shoulders.

“Release your weapons,” he demanded in a voice that cracked with rage. He vaguely felt the pirate struggle against his grip and pressed the barrel harder against the side of his head to quell the movement.

The pirates looked at one another, swords and pistols still at the ready, muttering to themselves. One of the men, an older fellow, nodded, and then they suddenly sprang. They all fell on top of Blair at once and he felt the air come rushing out of his lungs as they crushed him beneath their combined weight. Bellowing a great howl of rage, he summoned every ounce of strength he possessed and strained to lift himself free.

They knocked the pistol from his grip. He snarled like a caged beast as his hand groped to regain it. Someone had him around the waist, preventing him from accessing his sword.

In mounting fury, he swung a fist around and landed a flattening blow to someone’s face. A howl of pain arose from the group and then his waist was suddenly free. He felt hands at the small of his back, grasping his wrists in an attempt to bind him. He fought like a mad man, but the numbers were too overwhelming.

He felt a small gap between the bodies surrounding him, and thrust himself towards it, teeth clenched and rage filling him with a white-hot heat. He did not get far when a brawny fist emerged from the tangle of bodies and caught him square in the jaw.

The world paused and a sharp pain exploded in his head. He stumbled, fell beneath the weight of the other bodies, and could not muster the strength to get back up. Two hands came forward and were quick in binding his wrists behind his back. He saw through a rapidly narrowing perspective the girl, Emily, staring in horror at him, leering faces hovering above him, and the room began to recede. Vaguely, he realized they were taking him away and called out the first name that came to him head.

“Jean DeMarco! Call for help....” Another blow silenced him finally, and his world descended into a spiralling black oblivion.