Catherine bit down on the cloth binding her mouth, steeling herself to betray no emotion. The dandy who had taken her from O'Rourke hopped up beside Lefanu, and pulled the coach door closed behind him. He settled down in the seat beside Catherine, leering, and raked her bound and gagged form with his eyes. If Lefanu noticed, he gave no indication. Instead, he addressed the man.
"Jacques, remove her gag."
The young man reached across the space between the coach seats, and indicated that Catherine should lean toward him. Catherine was loath to do anything at the behest of the smoothly handsome dandy who was already taking too many liberties for her liking. On the other hand, she did want the cursed thing out of her mouth. She inclined her head toward him; he reached behind her, and took full advantage of the opportunity to play with her hair, with the casual insolence of a practiced roué, before unfastening the knot and slipping the gag from her mouth.
"Jacques Pepin, late captain of the Emperor's guard," he informed his prisoner with a wolfish, and slightly inebriated grin, the stench of the tavern strong.
If he expected thanks from their captive, he was to be disappointed. Catherine gave him the briefest of cold glances, which seemed to serve only to amuse him further, then shook back her hair, licked her dry lips, and turned blazing eyes on Lefanu.
"You are a monster," Catherine kept her voice steady. "Why can't you leave us alone?"
Lefanu nodded, as if acknowledging a point, then settled back in his seat, his snake's eyes never leaving her face.
"You know, Lady Catherine, your husband was wrong to believe that my 'friends' would preserve me from retribution. While it is true that I have influential friends in Paris, influential men make enemies, too. Sadly, the tales of my so-called 'crimes' in England were being used against those men who would have aided me, and they were obliged to withdraw their protection for political reasons. I was forced to flee to this island, where I was fortunate enough to find its Governor to be an easily-blackmailed fool. It is thanks to him, and his indiscretions, that I have this estate to govern." He gestured out the window. "Fields for the slaves to work… stables and hands to keep the horses… I even have a small detail of troops to serve as my personal guard, with our own armory."
"You've done well enough for yourself," Catherine glared. "What do you need with me?"
He struck out like lightning, his gloved hand backhanding Catherine across the face. Her head spun in a cloud of dark tresses, but before she could recover, he had clamped fingers like iron on her chin and dragged her face around to him.
"Done well? A ratty estate on a pestilential, mosquito-plagued rock… and never to be allowed to return to the greatest city on Earth?" His painful grip was bringing tears to Catherine's eyes. "Paris forbidden to me? They might as well have killed me."
Self-pitying hyperbole, Catherine knew, but his anger was genuine. He pinned her gaze with his own for another moment, then let his face dissolve into the ghastliest parody of a smile that Catherine had ever seen. He let go her chin and continued his oily diatribe.
"Oh, but Lady Catherine… I suspect you fear for your life… or perhaps what is laughingly called your 'honor'." Catherine refused to rise to the bait, and Lefanu lowered his voice to an unpleasant purr. "You need have no fear… I promise you that no harm shall befall you, nor will you be subject to any unwanted advances… until I have your husband in my power."
Catherine had allowed his bland reassurances to lull her into a false sense of relief, and the last phrase knotted her stomach. Lefanu leaned forward, his face alight with perverse eagerness.
"On the day that your beloved Charles falls into my hands… and it will be soon, I promise you… on that day, he will kneel before me, in chains, and he will watch as I strip you naked and use you like the slut you are." Though Catherine had sworn not to give him the satisfaction of showing fear, this cold-blooded depravity shook her to her core, and her lip began to tremble, bringing a satisfied gleam to her tormentor's eyes. "Afterwards, you will be sold to a brothel here on the island… but not before your interfering husband is flogged to death before your eyes."
"P…please…" Catherine's eyes were wet, her throat one giant lump. "Oh, please, don't harm Charles. Leave him be. I will stay here with you, I will do whatever you say, perform any act you wish…"
"God, how marvelous… the proud Lady Catherine begging to be used like a common whore." Lefanu settled himself back in the seat, hands behind his head. "Do go on. Describe to me precisely what you will do for me."
Horror and shock at what she had said suffused Catherine, and in that moment, she realized she had no words; her husband lost to her, and in the power of this monster and his minions, and the only shred of hope was to abase herself?
No! She would die a thousand deaths before that happened, no matter what this fiend might have planned. She gulped in air, suppressing the sob that was trying to escape.
"No," she said, this time aloud. By all that was holy, by all that she had ever believed, she would remain true to the man she loved, though they might never see each other again in this life. She sniffled a moment, and straightened up in her seat, sitting defiant in her bonds. "Do as you will, but my husband and I will have the better of you yet." Whether she truly believed this, Catherine couldn't say, but she was pleased to see that she had convinced Lefanu… though less so when he once again struck her across the face.
"Coward," she sneered, but Lefanu was no longer in a mood to bandy words.
"Jacques, bind her insolent mouth."
The young man's grin widened as he forced the cloth back into Catherine's mouth, and though she had to resist, had to fight him, his enjoyment of the struggle and its inevitable outcome came near to breaking her spirits. He thrust the thick knot between her teeth, nimbly avoiding her attempt to bite him, and yanking painfully on her hair in return, bringing tears of pain, frustration, and rage to her eyes. He pulled the cloth around her head, trapping her long tresses beneath it, and fastened a brutally effective knot at the nape of her neck. Not only did the knot in her mouth inhibit speech, but the band of cloth that encircled her head and pinned her hair to her neck was so painfully tight that she scarcely dared try to move. Pepin gave her a condescending pat on the head, then turned as Lefanu questioned him.
"Only her? O'Rourke didn't have the husband as well?"
Pepin shrugged. "You said not to be too specific when we spread the word about the Labrador- if we actually said you were looking for an English couple, instead of just money, that pirate would have known their value, and held you up for twice the ransom. But I have my eyes and ears out there. When the husband turns up, we'll know about it."
Lefanu nodded. "When we arrive, put her in the female slaves' quarters." Lefanu's tone suggested that Catherine was already half-forgotten; nothing more now than a pawn to be played when the moment was right. "I may go out for the evening, so secure her for the night, and we'll see what reports we have of her husband in the morning." Catherine's brave face and determined posture were wasted on Lefanu as the Frenchman turned to look out the window as they passed through the gates of his estate. They were not, though, lost on Jacques Pepin, and Catherine had the uneasy feeling that the young scoundrel regarded her demeanor as more of a challenge than anything else.
+++
After a few minutes, the world had stopped spinning in a red haze before his eyes, though the damnable ache in his head showed no signs of subsiding. And, Charles Redmond thought glumly, things are only likely to get worse.
He had been dragged to what he assumed to be Lucky San's cabin, where the bonds were undone, and his arms unwound from the dowel. Still dazed from the cosh on his head, he offered but token resistance as the scowling pirates threw him to his back on the small bed, spreadeagled, then tied at and wrists and ankles. At least they had dispensed with the gag, on the reasonable assumption that there was no one aboard the ship who would have any interest in coming to his aid.
Once he was alone, Charles closed his eyes, offering up silent prayers that the pounding in his skull would cease, or at least diminish. Every moment that passed, he and Catherine were being carried further and further apart, and headache or no headache, pirates or no pirates, he was going to get her back if it killed him-after all, what purpose would his life have without her? He was just wrestling with the knotty problem of actually effecting an escape, when the door opened again, and the dim light revealed a shape that was clearly not one of the thuggish sailors: slender and supple and female.
Charles cleared his throat as the door was closed again.
"I apologize that I am not able to rise to greet you," he gestured as far as his bonds would permit, "though perhaps I am relieved of that obligation, as I'm not certain that a seafaring cutthroat is actually considered a 'lady'."
A smile wreathed dusky features, and Lucky San leaned closer.
"I have cut out men's tongues for such insults."
"I highly doubt that," Charles responded coolly. "Your prisoners wouldn't dare, and most other men would shower you with flattery, not insults, just to have a chance to grovel at the feet of beauty."
"Nonetheless," the pirate remained composed, "those in my power are well advised to choose their words carefully." She let long fingernails graze his chest through the tatters in his shirt.
"You didn't come here to talk." Charles wearied of the banter-he might be flattering himself, but he was fairly certain of her purpose in coming to him while he was powerless to resist her.
"No," she smiled enigmatically. "You're quite right." She continued looking down at him, then raised a hand to her head, and unwound the red turban that allowed glossy sheets of black hair to cascade around her face and over her the shoulders of her silk blouse. Despite himself, Charles' eyes widened at the casually wanton look on her face as she took hold of the buttons of her blouse and slowly began to reveal a swelling bosom of wondrously smooth flesh.
Charles swallowed hard, and closed his eyes. He had never, for one moment, regretted pledging his life to Catherine, and had never so much as looked at another woman since their marriage. But, then, never before had he found himself at the mercy of an exotic beauty who, unlike the average Englishwoman, made not the slightest attempt to mask her carnal intent. And what man of the world was unaware of the astonishing length and breadth of sensual knowledge that the women of India possessed? No, that thought must be put aside before--
"Arrh!" His eyes snapped open as her fingers threaded in his hair and yanked sharply, forcing him to look at her. The smile never left her face, though; if anything, it was more gleefully predatory as she leaned closer.
"An English gentleman looks at a lady-a woman, anyway," she laughed, "when she addresses him."
"Enough." Charles kept his voice flat and inexpressive, trying desperately not to let her see the effect she was having on him. "I have nothing to offer you, woman, and you have nothing I want."
The beautiful pirate now bent over him, the black torrent of her silken tresses tenting his head, filling it with a perfume of maddening temptation.
"I hear protests from your mouth," her teeth gleamed white in the tanned brown face, and her hand slid down to his loins, with a stroking motion. "But it would seem that other parts of your body might not be so reluctant."
Charles stifled a groan. He wanted to shut his eyes again, clench his teeth, bite madly down on his lip… anything to distract himself from the witch's charms. So easy to give in... he was helpless, at the mercy of this tempting wanton… with no way of knowing if he would ever see his wife again… who would ever know…?
Damnation. No! Lucky San might kill him for it-it would be all too easy in his present state-but if he were going to his death, he would go as Catherine's husband, not as her betrayer.
Mastering himself, as he would once have done in the face of the enemy, he looked the pirate straight in the eyes… and laughed.
"What?" Lucky San was taken so aback she just gaped at him, and glanced again at his groin. "Your manhood does not appear to find me amusing."
"And what of that?" It took all his strength to keep from interrupting himself with gasps of desire. "'Tis filled simply with blood, not passion. It means nothing-no more than if it should swell after an evening of heavy drink. Unlike some, I am not mastered by simple animal urges."
Lucky San stared as though he'd slapped her in the face… which would be a pretty damned dangerous thing to do under any circumstances, he thought warily.
"You… you…" the beautiful pirate was nearly speechless. "You are my prisoner, and will suit your actions as befits your station!"
"Please yourself." Charles shrugged his shoulders as best he could. "I am in your power--if it pleases you to disport yourself before me like a common slut of the streets, and to use the Almighty's gift to man and woman as nothing more than a way to satisfy a base appetite, then do it. I am married--I am pledged eternally--to a woman who is worth ten of you, for all your vulgar display."
For a moment, there was silence in the cabin, save for the sound of Lucky San getting her breathing back under control.
"Very well." Her voice was as dead and cold as an officer ordering his men into a suicide charge. "If you will not have me, then I can see but one answer." She turned back to face him, and approached the bed; Charles could see the hint of wetness around her eyes… and the eight inches of razor--edged steel that glittered in her hand.
+++
From the coach, Catherine was marched around to the back of Lefanu's manor house. Though frightened and exhausted, she refused to give these brigands the satisfaction of seeing her spirits flag, and walked with her head proud and erect, though with hands still bound securely behind her, and her mouth stuffed full of the stifling cloth.
As they rounded the corner of one of the outbuildings, Pepin stopped their procession, then nodded at the uniformed men, instructing them in French to keep watch. They nodded, standing to a loose attention.
Suddenly, the moon and stars disappeared as Pepin seized Catherine's shoulders and pushed her back into an alcove between two of the outbuildings. He slammed her back up against the wall, pressing his body insistently on hers, and any pretense to being a gentleman vanished; the handsome young man was every bit the lout as his loathsome master.
"It is delightful to make your acquaintance, Lady Catherine," he hissed into her face, his breath stale with drink. "Perhaps we'll get lucky, and the Colonel will take a long time find your husband, giving us plenty of opportunity to get to know each other." His hand went to her face, and he dug fingers in between the tight gag and her cheek, raking the cloth brutally over her skin, freeing her mouth for but an instant. She had barely gulped in a breath of air before he wrapped her long hair around his hand and savagely pulled her face closer. Holding her fast by her imprisoned tresses, he forced his face down upon hers, and lips slimy with liquor and lust mashed down upon hers. Catherine struggled as best she might: though her back was pressed up against the wall by his superior weight, her sable locks clutched in his fist, and her hands bound uselessly behind her, she would not endure such indignity. As her captor drank deeply of her lips, she twisted her head against the pain in her scalp and sunk her teeth deeply and painfully into Pepin's lip.
"Aggghhh!" Catherine was delighted at his pained yelp, and even the metallic taste of his blood in her mouth gave her satisfaction.
"You damned hellcat!" The young man's eyes clouded in pain and rage as he released Catherine and put a hand to his bleeding lip. His breathing was heavy as he regarded Catherine, but, to her dismay, his bloody mouth formed itself once more into that crooked smile. With casual deliberation, he let fly with a painful slap to Catherine's left cheek, then the right. He watched as his handprints began to glow red on her pale skin, then laughed.
"Oh, lady, I am going to have such fun taming you. I am going to use you, and I am going to hurt you. I hope they never find your husband."
"Won't your 'master' disapprove of your spoiling his fun?" she gasped, dizzy from the slaps, but she made sure he heard the sneer in her voice.
"I am the Colonel's eyes and ears. He sees and hears only what I tell him. And if I tell him that you're a lying bitch with no purpose beyond sowing distrust between him and myself, I daresay he'll make an exception and allow me to provide you a good flogging into the bargain."
With that, he stepped back, his weight no longer crushing her against the wall, and pushed her ahead of him out of the alcove. The soldiers seemed not to react at all, but simply accompanied their captain as they marched Catherine toward her imprisonment.
The slave quarters proved to be inside a barn--like building; a large room like a hospital ward, with an assortment of cots where the female slaves were bedded for the night; Catherine could see that many wore shackles, and all were restrained in place in some fashion.
The soldiers stood impassively behind Pepin as he unfastened Catherine's bonds, and whipped away the cloak, exposing the flimsy nightdress she'd worn since her abduction from the ship. Her relief at finally having circulation return to her arms far outweighed any concerns for her undignified costume--she'd survived worse than this strutting lecher, and would not permit the smirking Monsieur Pepin to have the better of her.
"Lie down, Mademoiselle," he commanded. "On your back." Truly without options, and admittedly teetering on the brink of exhaustion from her ordeal, Catherine complied, settling herself back on the thin cot. Pepin took hold of her left wrist, and reached to fasten it with stout cord to the top of the bed's small frame; he pressed his body down on hers as he leaned across to fasten the ropes, allowing his swollen manhood to provide Catherine with an unpleasant reminder of his intentions for her.
Remain calm. Let him think he's beaten you.
In no hurry, Pepin slid his body across hers, writhing in an utterly disgusting manner, as he secured her other wrist. Though Catherine longed to hurt the bastard--biting off his nose seemed a promising option--she allowed a whimper to escape her lips, causing her captor to laugh.
"Fear not, lady--I'll not deny you my charms for long." To Catherine's relief, he managed to secure her ankles without lying atop her or grinding himself into her, then stood back and struck a hands-on-hips pose that was so ludicrous that Catherine, far from trembling in fear, had to suppress an urge to laugh.
Oh, you fool, she thought to herself. Your reckoning will be a painful one, I promise you.
He leaned over her, and let his hands play lewdly across the front of her nightdress, then stroke her cheek, before taking her chin in hand. He glanced down at the strip of dampened cloth that drooped around her neck.
"I'm tempted to jam that gag so far down your throat that you choke," the Frenchman sneered, "but I suppose the Colonel will expect you to be breathing come the morning." He leaned closer. "Just remember: if you scream, the only one that will come is myself."
He turned on his heel, grunting commands to the soldiers, and as Catherine lay in the darkness, their footsteps receded, leaving her alone with her dread.
+++
Diego O'Rourke glared miserably at the exquisite sunrise. He would normally have shaken off the swollen head and sour stomach of a long night's indulgence, but today not even the sting of salt air in his face would refresh him. The sea which had thrilled, fascinated, and nurtured him since he was a child seemed to have lost all its appeal since… since… oh damn it all, since he'd sold the cursed woman to that miserable Frenchman. And at least twice a day, the impassive figure of Little Nell would appear like a dark-skinned conscience, her large eyes full of reproach. And this morning, she stood at his shoulder once more, silent reminder of a drunken, desperate mistake,
"Damn it, Nell," he snarled. "What the hell would you have me do?" Any answer the woman might have made was lost as they were joined by the first mate, breathlessly pointing to starboard.
"She's come back, Cap'n."
"She? She who?" For an instant, he had the bizarre vision of Catherine Redmond, escaped from her captors, swimming out to his ship.
"It's the Southern Witch, bearing down on us!" the man gasped. "Lucky San is back!"
O'Rourke pressed knuckles to his aching eyeballs, then turned to look out at the approaching ship. He sighed, then got to his feet.
"Right, then… battle stations."
+++
For a week, Catherine had played the damsel in distress.
The first morning of her captivity, Lefanu had visited her in the slave quarters, and the abashed scowl she received from the odious Pepin suggested that Lefanu had reminded him of his expectations: Catherine's molestation would happen on his schedule, and not otherwise. And though after that she had to endure Pepin's brutal scorn, and the occasional bit of rough handling, she suppressed any desire to offer resistance or defiance. Give him no excuse for his lewd brutality--let him think I'm beaten.
Captivity alternated tedium with terror. She was allowed food, water, soap, hairbrush and toilet facilities, but the rest of her day was spent either bound, chained, shackled or collared, with nothing to do but fret over her husband's fate, and her own. Each night, Pepin would once more bind her spreadeagle on her cot, accompanied by obscene, often drunken, threats.
And tonight, as she lay supine, letting him secure her, she decided that the time had come. The drunken Pepin had begun to grow careless of Lefanu's threats, fondling Catherine as he tied the ropes, laughing and leering. It was taking less and less acting to convince Pepin that she was terrified.
In the darkness, Catherine took a few moments to let her emotions take her, and she sobbed out all the misery and despair of these past few days. Her sobs mingled with the whimpers and snores of the other female slaves. But that was enough--time to get to work. Wherever Charles might be, he would come to her aid at the risk of his life. And she would do no less for him.
Catherine had calculated correctly--exaggerating her distress had allowed the tipsy Pepin to be so concerned with frightening and humiliating her that he'd paid too little attention to restraining her. Not that the ropes were particularly loose--they bit her wrists cruelly--but the knots were sloppy, and he hadn't bothered to tie them out of her reach. Still, it would be no Hyde Park stroll to undo them: her fingers ached from trying to stretch to the cords, to get her fingernails enough purchase to begin picking at the knots. Her left hand lacked the strength to make much headway with the knots, so she concentrated her efforts on the right.
After what felt like hours of agonizing effort, she was rewarded by the feeling of the cord slipping, loose enough now to yank her wrist through; the coarse rope bit her flesh as she dragged her hand through, but what of that? She would soon be free!
Catherine moved quietly, so as not to attract attention, reaching up to undo the bonds at her left wrist. She suddenly froze--had she heard something? Someone? A stirring, some movement? Scarce daring to breathe, she listened for a few more moments. Finally, after hearing naught but the snoring of the slaves, she returned to her task, stretching to reach the knots at her left wrist. When it gave way, she sank back to the bed with a sigh of exhausted triumph.
She sat up, reaching toward the ropes at her feet… when the sound came again. Her imagination? No, this time she was sure of it--she had heard someone moving quietly across the floor--someone not restrained to one of the cots. Pepin wouldn't bother with such subtlety. One of his soldiers?
No matter, her best hope lay in them thinking she was still helplessly bound. She slowly sank back, her arms extended above her head as though still tied to the bed.
The sound drew closer…and suddenly, before her eyes was the nightmare: a woman's dark face--that woman's dark face---surmounted by a red silk scarf, blazing black eyes and a glittering knife clutched in her teeth.
Catherine didn't even begin to try to understand how this apparition came to be here, and wasn't waiting to find out. She hurled herself upright, despite her legs still being encumbered by the bonds at her ankles, and seized Lucky San by the shoulders.
For her part, the pirate was as startled as she had ever been--the woman she believed unconscious and bound had bolted upright and grabbed her! Her mouth gaped, the knife tumbling to the floor.
"Where is he?" Catherine snarled, shaking the woman. "Where is my husband???" She reached to Lucky San's head, yanking free the red scarf, and once more plunging her hand into the woman's mass of black hair, yanking viciously. "What have you done with him? Tell me!"
"Aiieeeee!" Lucky San tried to pull back against the grip in her hair, and wrapped her legs around Catherine's waist, as though to crush the air from the woman, but her foe was oblivious to anything but the fate of her husband.
"Answer me!" Catherine was screaming now, heedless of the danger from Lefanu, Pepin, or any of their ilk--this was the woman who had kidnapped her husband, and if any harm had befallen him…
"Ouuuww!" It was Catherine's turn to yelp in pain as Lucky San helped herself to two fistfuls of the Englishwoman's long sable mane, shaking Catherine's head as she tried to make herself heard over the woman's threats.
"Ahh, dammit you stupid Englishwoman! He is safe, he is well, I swear! He came with me--I am here to rescue you, blast you!"
The pistol shot that rang through the air didn't shock Catherine half as much as the pirate's words had, but both women froze, fists clenched tightly in the other's hair, as mocking laughter filled the room.
"Quelle tableaux!" Pepin roared. "Lads, it would cost a week's pay to see such a show in Paris, and here it is provided us for free! Ah, ah, ah--don't move, ladies." He was pointing a large pistol at the two women, and was flanked by the same two armed guards. "I think this posture suits you both quite well. It lacks but an additional measure of security, which I believe we can provide." He gestured with the pistol. "But closer now, mademoiselles… you need to be closer."
As Pepin's men brought more rope, Catherine was forced to embrace Lucky San, reaching around behind her back, their bodies pressed as closely as sisters reuniting after a long separation; the woman's scent was fragrant with the spices of India, and Catherine had a brief vision of the happy days she had spent there. That was quickly dispelled by the bite of cord about her already--bruised wrists as Pepin bound them far more securely than he had to the bed. An extra flourish of cinches and tugs conveyed quite clearly that he had no intention of her getting loose again, and Catherine had to reluctantly conclude that he was probably right--among other things, with her arms wrapped around Lucky San, and her hands tied behind the pirate's back, she couldn't even see the knots to try to work on them. She felt the pirate's arms pulled tightly about her own waist; the woman's wrists were crossed and bound as her own had been. To this, Pepin added a longer loop of cord that he ran around each woman's torso, snugging it painfully up under their arms, and encircling the both of them. As he pulled on the rope, the small space between Catherine and Lucky San evaporated to nothing, and the two captives were pressed bosom to bosom, each with her chin nearly resting on the other's shoulder.
Catherine's ankles were still fastened to the foot of the bed, and the presence of the armed guards had frozen Lucky San in place with her legs still wound about Catherine's waist, though at least she was no longer trying to squeeze the breath from Catherine's lungs. Pepin allowed his hands to grope lewdly along the pirate's legs, before whipping cord around her ankles, cinching them tightly enough that Catherine gasped at the increased pressure about her midriff.
Now, the two woman sat in helpless embrace, their torsos yoked firmly together, legs fastened about each other's waists, hands tied behind each other's backs, their faces cheek to cheek. Catherine started to strain her neck to turn and see what Pepin had in store for them next, but he was already standing over his captives, smiling.
Pepin grasped a fistful of Lucky San's thick dark hair and forced her face to his. He pressed his lips over hers, and as he had Catherine, used his grip in her hair to keep her from turning away. He seemed to have learned his lesson, though, as he broke off the kiss before Lucky San was able to bite him, and yanked her head back so that he was looking into her face.
"The great 'Lucky San,' I am guessing," he grinned. "A helpless prisoner. My name is Jacques Pepin, and I am the man who can spare you a great deal of agony if you will tell me where your companions are."
The pirate hesitated only long enough to cough deep in her throat, then spat directly in the Frenchman's face.
Pepin blinked in surprise, his face clouding in rage. He composed himself, though--clearly, he had no intention of letting a helplessly bound woman get the better of him--dabbed his face with a handkerchief, gave a another painful yank on Lucky San's hair, and released her.
"I should have expected as much from a savage. It is of little consequence to me, but I fear that you will find the Colonel less concerned with niceties when asking questions." He stroked her cheek, and she flinched away, snarling. "It's a pity that you'll be much less beautiful when he's through with you." He then turned to one of his men.
"Wake the rest of the guards, and have them search the grounds for her companions." He turned to the remaining two. "Watch the door. I'm going to tell the Colonel the good news." With that, he was gone, and the two soldiers took up positions by the door, occasionally throwing glances back at the captive women, but clearly more concerned with the possibility of attack from outside.
Catherine watched the guards for a moment. They're distracted, and I don't think they speak much English. She decided to risk a question.
"Where is Charles?" She hissed into Lucky San's ear. "Why isn't he with you?"
"We didn't think disguising him as a female slave would be very convincing," Lucky San snapped. "He's keeping watch on us, though. Doubtless he is working on our escape plan already."
"And your men? They're with him?"
The pirate made a noise of disgust. "My men follow me for the booty I help them to acquire. They would not take it well if I asked them to help me release a valuable hostage to his wife, and get nothing in return."
"You're alone?" Despite the danger, Catherine's voice raised in astonished horror. "You and Charles… but the Colonel has men and arms and…"
She stopped as she heard the sound of boots tramping, and Jacques Pepin returned. He gave an elaborate shrug, and offered his captives a parody of an apology.
"The Colonel is visiting one of his favorite… houses… in town… and is not to be disturbed," he smirked down at the women. "So you are spared his tender mercies until the morning…. Instead, you may spend the rest of the evening contemplating his methods for the extraction of information--I can promise you, he is far more imaginative in such areas than you could ever be."
He stood over the captives again, and toyed with Lucky San's hair while she writhed in impotent fury, snarling curses. His fingers then twisted in the thick dark locks as the pirate's head was again forced back, and Pepin took a leather bit and jammed its pad between her teeth. She growled, and bucked against her bonds, rocking Catherine back and forth on the bed, Even without turning her head, Catherine could see the painful gouging of the dusky cheeks by the leather strap that secured the gag in place. She could see little point in trying to resist the inevitable, and leaned her head back as far as she had room, opening her mouth for the gag. Pepin snickered, and out of sheer devilment, pulled her hair anyway, before gagging her as he had Lucky San, the strap yanking her hair as he secured it behind her head. Her teeth sank into the thick leather pad, her lips crushed by the leather strap that held it in place.
"There. That should prevent more wicked and idle conversation. Don't struggle too much--impairs the breathing, you know." He regarded the two women, his face wreathed in lust and contempt, then turned and left. The two guards returned to their position by the door, leaving Catherine and Lucky San in their bound and gagged embrace, and facing the prospect of a morning darker than any night.