~ Reflected Passion III: Reflected Destiny ~
by Aurelia

* * * * *

There are many journeys in one’s life. The most important one begins with conception and ends with death. It is a road we all travel, filled with twists and turns, many forks in the road and littered with rocks. Of course, there are many physical journeys to be made, whether it is to the corner store or half-way around the world, as well as intellectual ones to discover school, high school, university or just self-awareness. Lastly, but no less important, is the emotional journey in search of joy, peace, harmony and that elusive partner to share one’s life with. The journeys of a few lucky ones are intersected by divine intervention, revealing a hidden path that is treacherous and not for the faint-hearted but leads to a destination full of greatness. It takes great courage and determination to travel this path, but with enough will and perseverance those worthy of this gift will fulfill their destiny…

Chapter 1

“Are we there yet?”

They had been traveling only a few hours and already Francoise was annoyed. The small leather attachment in her pants had been sticking into her crotch, its presence known with every sway of the broken down horse underneath her. Now Dale was making inane comments.

“I always wanted to say that,” Dale said cheerfully.

“Hrrrmp!” Françoise was losing her patience, something she had not done with her young lover before.

Dale was taken aback. She knew she had made a mistake when there was no term of endearment, even implied, in the grunt. There was always ‘chérie’, ‘mon cœur’, ‘mon amour’ or just plain ‘Dale’. There was nothing except piercing blue eyes staring back at her. “Sorry…” she muttered.

“Sorry, chérie…” There was that word Dale had come to crave. “… but you do not have to be so cheerful about this.”

“You think I don’t know what’s going on, do you?”

“Dale…”

“I found you in a reflection in a mirror…” Françoise settled back in the saddle, preparing herself for the lesson that was Dale. Of course the woman knew what was going on, they were there together through that entire journey.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll keep it short. I came to you, you came to me. My mother wants you dead so here we are back here in the middle of the French Revolution with no escape back to my time. Now all of France wants you dead as well.”

“Then why are you so happy about it?” Her companion seemed to have a grasp on the situation.

“Because I’m here with you.”

The brunette didn’t know what to say. Dale had so eloquently put their dilemma in few words and their solution. “Ah, chérie, what would I do without you?”

“I’m not going to give you the chance to find out.”

“You do not trust me, mon amour?” A dark eyebrow rose.

“Yeah, but….,” Dale hesitated. That damned little demon still sat on her shoulder, whispering into her ear and feeding all those insecure thoughts she tried to suppress.

Françoise shifted the horse closer to her companion, leaning over to pat the woman’s hand tightly gripping the reins. “No, Dale. There will never be anyone else. You must believe that.” The approach of a battered wagon from the other direction stopped their conversation. “Say nothing, chérie.”

“Well, d’uh…” Dale muttered, raising her own eyebrow to tell her partner what she thought of that comment.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing…,” she said brightly.

“Bonjour monsieur, bonjour madame. Vous arrivez de Nantes?” Suspicious eyes glared at her and the man’s shaggy head nodded in confirmation. “What is the road like up ahead?”

“Nantes is a madhouse, monsieur. It is not a wise place to take your young bride right now.”

“How so, monsieur?”

“People everywhere, either trying to take refuge or seek a berth on one of the ships leaving the port. There are gangs of vigilantes roaming the streets in search of aristocrats and the helpless. Many of them are traveling this road as well, monsieur. You two could easily fall prey to such bullies.” Aged eyes studied the two women on horseback, seeing a tall young man of sleek build and a young blonde whose beauty would mark her for ravishment.

“Nevertheless monsieur, we have business there and must go. I thank you for your help. Goodbye.” Françoise gently kicked the side of her nag, pushing the horse into motion past the dilapidated wagon.

Dale followed, her eyes fixed on the old woman seated next to her husband. Would that be her in ten years’ time? Twenty years? In these times it was easy to be old at forty. Or die. There were no antibiotics here. No miracle drug to cure her ills. She suddenly realized how fragile life was going to be in this time.

“So what did he say?”

“We have to find another route.”

“He said that?”

“No... I said that.” She was worried. Neither of them had experience in the wilds. It was going to be hard enough without the worry of armed gangs raping and pillaging as they went. “Not far up ahead is a crossroad. We will take the north road to follow the river. It is a little longer but should be a lot safer.” She said no more, content to bury herself in her thoughts.

“How do you know about this road?”

“I have been along these roads many times, chérie. I know them intimately.” Too intimately for her liking though.

“So you’ve been to Nantes before?”

“Yes.” The somber look stopped Dale from questioning her further. Whatever had taken her to Nantes had not been pleasant, but that didn’t stop the small woman speculating what it was.

They rode on in silence until the fork in the road appeared. “To the right.” Françoise said no more, in no mood to make light conversation.

Dale was worried. The tall woman sat in the saddle, her eyes flickering around looking for danger. Françoise had always been so self-assured, confident and relaxed, but she was none of those things right now. She was hyper-vigilant, restless and silent. Nantes couldn’t come soon enough.

The two nags were steered down the smaller road, heading off down what was barely more than a walking track towards the Loire. What Françoise hadn’t told Dale was that while this road was quieter, if they got into trouble there was less chance of someone coming to their aid. What God gave with one hand, the Devil took away with another. She only hoped that what God gave them was enough to hold the Devil at bay.

* * *

It had been a long day in the saddle. Dale was sore in places she didn’t know could be sore. They had made steady progress, finding the river and following its course towards the coast, allowing the horses to walk at their own pace. The sun was hanging low in the sky and it was necessary to find shelter. The small woman sat back, biting her lip as her ‘sore spots’ made themselves known, watching her lover take charge and find them a campsite.

Françoise had no idea what she was doing but she wasn’t going to tell Dale that. This was her time and her country. She was responsible for Dale’s safety and it was a responsibility she took very seriously. Resolve replaced indecision as she alighted from the horse. “We will stay here tonight.” Her hand reached for her crotch, shifting the leather piece that had been her nemesis all day.

“You trying to say something, honey?”

“Pardon?” Dale said nothing but dropped her eyes to where Françoise’s hand was hovering. “Oh, non. It has been… uncomfortable.”

“I just bet. If it’s anything how my… errr…. how I feel then it’s screaming for relief.” Dale smiled sweetly. “Are you looking for relief?”

Françoise blinked. Did she mean what she thought she meant? “Not now, chérie.”

“Why, what a dirty mind you have.”

“Only because you put it there, mon amour.” Despite herself, Françoise smiled. “Thank you, chérie.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me what was important. Now… hmmm.” The aristocrat surveyed the scene. “I will find us somewhere to sleep.” Before she had finished the final word Dale had stepped forward, picking up a fallen branch and sweeping away dead leaves and undergrowth until there was a bare patch of ground.

“What are you doing?”

“What you should be doing.” Dale couldn’t help but smile cheekily at the stunned woman. “Now go and collect some dead wood while I prepare a fire pit.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“I was a Girl Scout when I was a kid.”

“Girl… Scout… Kid?” Françoise was perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

“Kid is another word for a child and Girl Scout? A Girl Scout is a girl who is taught to survive in the wild. And I think all that is going to come in handy right about now.”

“Bien.” If whatever Dale said was good then she was happy. Woodsmanship was not something taught to the aristocracy, and especially not to the women, so this was one point she would happily defer to her partner. Françoise felt no anger at Dale taking charge. She had discovered not long ago that their relationship was based on give and take, ebb and flow, as their needs dictated.

Dale watched the woman leave, attending to the horses before wandering into the forest to find dead wood. She had never met anyone quite like her. Many men she had come in contact with would have been up in arms about her taking charge, but not Françoise. That was one of the endearing things she loved about the woman. There was no argument about who had control. It was a seamless meshing of the two of them. When one was lacking, the other would step in. She couldn’t help the little smile that came to her lips.

She could hear her lover shifting through the undergrowth, the odd snap of wood underfoot pinpointing her. Her smile widened as what she assumed was a French expletive reached her ears. Obviously her arrogant aristocrat was not accustomed to such manual labor and this journey would be a voyage of discovery for both of them. A journey that she hoped would bring them even closer together than before.

* * *

Dead tendrils reached for her and tore at her clothes. Maybe she should have sent Dale on this chore because the constant prodding of dead branches was irritating Françoise’s last nerve.

“Do you need any help?” Dale’s voice carried on the light breeze to her ears.

Her pride refused to let her say ‘yes’. “I am fine, chérie. Why do you ask?”

The crunch of leaves gave away her companion’s position. “Because you have been muttering and cursing for the last five minutes.” A mass of blonde hair appeared through the undergrowth, an impish face grinning madly at her. “Here, let me give you a hand…”

Françoise pulled away her armful of firewood. “Find your own wood. This is mine.”

“Aww, c’mon now, honey.”

“Do not ‘honey’ me, Dale. I can look after myself quite well.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I was just offering…”

The pouting lip was her undoing. “Please, Dale. I…do not…” A finger came up to her lips, stopping the confession from being revealed.

“Don’t say it.” Dale knew how much it hurt Françoise to reveal her weaknesses. “You did just fine, my love.” The air started to cool, sending a shudder through her. “Maybe you can help me with the fire before I freeze to death.”

* * *

Dale sorted through her fading memories to her days as a Girl Scout. While it was fun in those days to ‘camp out’, little did she suspect that she would ever actually use what she had learned. Now that time in her life took on new meaning. It was their salvation.

Françoise watched carefully as Dale laid out the wood, trying to commit to memory what she had done. Her lover stopped, looking at her expectantly.

“Now, it’s your turn.”

“Moi?”

“Yes, toi…” Dale rose and made her way to their meager belongings, extracting the tinderbox from the cloth bag. Silently, she handed over the box to her partner, nodding in the direction of the pile of wood.

The tall aristocrat shrugged, striking the stone on the metal to cause sparks. As the wood caught alight, Dale hunkered down beside her, gently pushing the tinder towards the orange glow. Françoise blew on the smoldering specks until the fire burst into life, its heat already evident in those first few moments. “Voilá,” she murmured, her hand opening in invitation with a flourish.

“See? We work well as a team.” Not that Dale ever doubted that. She continued to feed the flames until the fire was burning brightly, lighting up the immediate area as the sky darkened to twilight.

* * *

After a dinner of cold rations Dale lay against Françoise, her back snuggled into her lover’s chest. She looked up at the night sky, sighing contentedly. “Just look at all those stars! It’s such a beautiful night. Cold, but beautiful.” The dark woman pulled up the blanket around her companion, making sure that she was comfortable and warm. “You know what I think?”

“No, chérie. What is going on in that head of yours?”

Dale’s head tilted up, giving Françoise a glare. “Verrry funny. No, I’ve been thinking about what’s been happening to us.” The blonde felt the strong arms around her tighten. “I think it’s a test.”

“A… what you say? Test?”

“It’s some divine journey to see whether we are worthy of what we have been given.”

“You think so?”

“Up till now our path has been straight and smooth. It has been a wonderful time.” Glassy eyes looked up to see a nod in confirmation. “Whew! I’m glad you said that… Anyway, what if this is to see whether we survive a rocky path, to test our love and resolve?”

“Hmmmm…” Maybe that would explain why she had the urge to step back through the mirror. Françoise pondered the question. Dale’s father had been sympathetic to their cause and he was a man of great influence, or so she was lead to believe. Surely he would have sorted out the differences between his wife and his only daughter. “Maybe.”

“Hey! It can’t be any more incroyable than how we met, can it? I mean, why are we here?” A gentle smile touched the dark woman’s lips as Dale slipped in a word of French.

“Because your mother was trying to separate us?” Françoise was not sure whether she believed all this divine nonsense. She was more inclined to believe it was a freak happenstance.

Dale twisted in Françoise’s grasp, her trusting eyes seeking out her lover’s. “You know what I mean…”

“Oui, I do.”

“You can’t explain this.” The smaller woman laid her hand on the French woman’s chest, quietly at first before patting the cotton surface. “No bandage?”

“Chérie, I was not going to wear that thing, or the devil’s spawn in my pants, any longer than I had to.”

“Oooh, goody.” Dale turned around and wriggled against the woman nestling her. “Better…” She felt Françoise’s hands encircle her, agile fingers gently moving over the rough cotton. “Hmmmm…. Much, much better.” Without her knowledge, Dale’s voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “I know what would make it perfect.”

The tall French woman chuckled, drawing a glare from the young woman in her arms. “What’s so funny?”

“You, chérie.”

“Me? What did I do now?”

“You have come so far, my sweet Dale. Was it only a matter of a few weeks since you first saw me in the mirror? Now look at you.”

“Well, I can’t. We have no mirror, remember?” Again, the annoying chuckle tickled her ears. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.” Françoise dipped her lips to touch her partner’s temple. “Nothing at all, but here you are asking for your pleasure.” The heat of the young woman’s skin brought another laugh.

“Stop teasing me!” Dale was mortified, snuggling her embarrassment deep into the blankets.

“Do not be upset, mon cœur. I find it most….ummm…. endearing. Oui. Endearing.” She kissed the top of Dale’s head, pulling her as close as their bodies would allow. “And as much as I would like to show you how endearing you are I must decline.”

“You’re saying ‘no’???” Dale thought it was only a matter of saying ‘I’m ready’ and Françoise would jump at the chance, so this negative response was most unexpected.

“Ma chérie, we are in danger. I must keep a clear head.” All of Françoise’s good intentions nearly flew out the window when she felt a warm hand wander along her thigh. “Stop that!” Her own large hand came down on top of Dale’s to stop the seductive tingling flowing across her skin.

“You are a spoil sport!”

“Dale… keep doing that and when we reach an inn you will be in trouble.” Flashing blue eyes reflected dangerously in the firelight, holding a promise of ravishment at the next appropriate time.

Dale could feel her excitement climb at the look, cursing herself for her own weakness. “Oh God…,” she whimpered.

“He will not help you, chérie.” White teeth emerged from dark lips, the tall woman’s grin enticing and seductive. “So stop this now before I have to go and kill something.”

Dale sighed deeply, allowing herself to slip into silence. The crackling of the fire awoke some very tender memories. “I remember a scene like this not so long ago.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The smell of smoke, the crackling of a fire and you behind my back.”

“Oh?” But it only took a second for her senses to remember. “Oh. Of course. The crossroad in my life.”

“The divine intervention.”

“If you say so, chérie.”

“Fate, divinity, or just plain dumb luck, call it what you want. I’m grabbing onto it with both hands and not letting go.”

“Mmmmm…” Françoise smiled, letting the warmth of her partner seep into her tired body. A creeping lethargy lay over her and she was content to just drift as she leaned against a fallen tree trunk. The fire sputtered and danced, tendrils of flame reaching to the night sky. She watched the cinders rise on the heated air, dying out once they had reached their zenith and falling back to earth unnoticed in the dark.

“I’ll never forget that first night I came to you.”

“My scared little rabbit you were.”

“At first, yeah, but when you touched my skin that first time it was… it was… magical.”

“That it was, mon amour. That it was.”

“Maybe we should mount the mirror on the ceiling when we finally settle down.”

“The ceiling??!?! Where did you get an idea like that?”

“Didn’t think I had such an imagination Françoise? Let me show you….” Dale exaggerated her thought process teasingly. “Now let’s see…. Hmmmm… “

“Dale…,” the deep voice growled in warning.

“I’m not doing anything, sweetheart.”

“Yes you are, and you know it!”

“I was just going to tell you a bedtime story.”

“You are trying to kill me.”

“I would never do that, Françoise.”

“It is because I said ‘no’, n’est-ce pas?” She warily eyed the woman snuggled into her chest. “You are playing with fire, mon cœur.”

“I like playing with fire…,” she murmured quietly, the intonation in her voice dreamily confirmed her inner desires. “I like playing with your fire,” she amended.

“Where’s my sword?” Françoise could feel her temperature rising, not only from the young woman squirming around seductively in her lap but the words that held so much promise.

Dale secretly smiled. She liked that she could stir such emotion in the large woman. Leaning forward, she grabbed another piece of wood and threw it on the fire. They watched the flames erupt and the sparks leap into the night sky. It was a bit like them, full of heat and just awaiting the fuel to burst into flame.

“So… back to my story.” A moan escaped the French woman drawing a quiet chuckle from the blonde. “Oh, come now. What am I supposed to do?”

“Go to sleep? But that is probably too much to ask for.”

“Not quite yet. Now… it can’t be my bedroom because there is no room for a mirror on the ceiling. The skylight is there.”

“I like that… how you say? Skylight? Très bien. I would not want a mirror there.”

“Okay. How about our bedroom? So, there is a mirror on the ceiling. Not the mirror. That will hang on the wall because it would be too heavy for the ceiling. Besides, it deserves better than the roof.” She had her partner’s attention, now to weave the magic…

“Now for the bed. The four posts have to go. I like to move around and the last thing I need is to be constantly hitting my shins on the wood.” Dale could feel the laughter rumble through her partner’s chest, tickling the nerve endings in her back. “Then again, maybe just two, then we can keep the other two for when I chain you up and have my wicked way with you.”

“Chain me u…” Françoise was confused. “What?” Had she misunderstood? “You… you…” She was nearly afraid to ask. “…follow the teachings of…” Françoise took a deep breath loathe to say the name. “.. Du Marquis de Sade?”

As the French woman spoke, Dale could feel the easiness gone from the long body behind her. This was an important question and one that held more meaning than a casual conversation. “The Marquis de… of course not! What on earth gave you that idea?”

“The bedpost… the chains… the…”

“Get that out of your head right now. I know of him, but that’s from the history books. Anyone who believes in that stuff is sick.” She had said the right words. “I was just joking, my love. I would never do anything that you didn’t want me to do.” She smiled impishly over her shoulder, trying to infuse some levity into the heavy conversation. “I was just trying to shock you, and it looked like I succeeded.”

“That you did, ma chère. I… I…”

“What does it mean to you?” Dale was afraid to look into those eyes, instead settling her vision on the flames in front of her.

“Nothing, chérie. Nothing at all. I am not a…”

“Fan?”

“Fan? Un éventail? What is that?”

“Well, it means what you think it means, but in my time it also means someone who is an admirer of a person or a thing.”

“Oui. I am not a ‘fan’ of Le Marquis.”

“I never thought you were. I remember you even teasing me about it.” After a few moments of silence Dale broached the subject. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Just when she thought she would not receive a reply, came the answer “That was in a place where my life did not mean a lot, chérie. This is different. My time, my country, my war.”

“Do you want me to continue my story?” The moment was gone and she knew it.

“Please… non. I am tired as I am sure are you.” With those words, Françoise ended the conversation, pulling both Dale and the blanket close to her before she closed her eyes. Dale didn’t answer but spent some time gazing into the orange glow and contemplating the turn of events.

* * *

The next morning turned out to be quite pleasant, despite the uneasiness of the night before. The air was brisk until the sun finally peeked through the dense forest. The silence was both a comfort and a source of irritation for the young American, only softened by the warm, sleepy cocoon she was engulfed in.

“Bonjour, chérie. Did you sleep well?” The tall French woman had a massive backache from leaning against the downed log, but she wasn’t going to tell her companion that.

“Scrummy. And you?”

Françoise chuckled. “You and your quaint American sayings.”

“And you don’t use quaint French sayings, chérie?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare!” Dale snuggled in closer, her nose digging around for warm flesh. “Ah hah!” came the muffled reply.

“Mon Dieu, Dale! Stop that!” Instinctively Françoise tried to back away from the tickling tongue but she had nowhere to go. “We need to start our journey, chérie.” They had limited food and neither of them were hunters, so if they didn’t want to starve they needed to cover a lot of ground in the daylight.

“Fine, fine. You are no fun, my sweet.”

“Your time will come…”

“Yeah, yeah. So you keep telling me and I’m still waiting.” The cool dawn air hit her face as she pulled her head out of the warm blanket. “Jesus, that’s cold!” She refused to emerge from the blanket, content to sit there while her lover poked at the remnants of the fire. After much cajoling, muttering and swearing the fire finally relented and burst into flame, greedily eating up the wood placed on it.

The cold rations for breakfast were not welcome but the hot tea was, finding the cold recesses of the body and mind to wake them to a new day.

* * *

The journey was pleasant enough. The sun played hide and seek with the clouds, and despite the grayness it refused to rain, for which they were eternally grateful. Françoise studied the Loire River as they traveled, watching it slowly grow in width as they ate up the miles towards their destination. As she had expected the path was nearly deserted, passing only two travelers in the whole day. She could see that Dale was tired and sore and pushed on a little farther before finding suitable cover.

“There…” She pointed to a break in the tree line, guiding her horse carefully through the ragged undergrowth. They rode the horses on for a few minutes, picking a winding path carefully through the rough terrain. “Ahhhh…” Françoise pointed towards a small rock outcropping, the soil underneath eroded away to reveal a low cave.

“Did you plan this?” Dale asked suspiciously.

“I am good, mon amour, but even I cannot foresee such things.”

“Couldn’t you just let me think you’re some sort of sorceress or something? You certainly bewitched me.”

“If you wish. I will not stop you thinking such thoughts.” A wide grin touched those lips, enchanting the blonde to the point of adoration. “Come. We have things to attend to, n’est-ce pas?”

“Indeed we do.” Reluctantly Dale slid off the back of the torture rack she had been riding all day, her legs collapsing under her own weight. “Does this get any easier?”

“In a year or two, ma chérie.” The answering groan drew a chuckle from her chest. “You rest and I will collect some wood.” Françoise tied the horse off to a branch nearby, removing the saddle and wiping down the lathered beast. After she repeated the chore with Dale’s horse the brunette went in search of firewood. She looked over her shoulder to see her lover gingerly walk around trying to prepare a fire pit and winced in sympathy. Maybe later she could give her a massage to ease the ache.

* * *

“Well, well, little one. Out in the woods alone?”

Dale looked up from her kneeling position to see two grubby men standing there. She didn’t understand the words but the intonation told her everything.

“Françoise!” She called out urgently, hoping against hope that she was within earshot. She called again, her voice more frantic than before.

“Let us see what you have for us.” The bigger of the two of them moved towards her, a massive club in his large hand. She could not plead with the man so she screamed, backing away frantically in an effort to put space between them. “Now that is not nice, chérie. You do not want to go scaring young Gaston here.” A gigantic hand flew out and grabbed her dress by the bodice. “Well, well, sweet one. I think you may have something for me.” The younger of the two men was scavenging through their belongings looking for valuables, while the older one was intent on having her.

Dale was in abject terror. The seriousness of their situation hit her like a tornado. She tried to bat away his hand in the hope of escape but he had a firm hold, steadily pulling her towards his ugly face. She could smell the stale sweat and alcohol-soaked breath from the ground, the foul smell getting stronger as she was unwillingly dragged towards the hulking body. The cloth began to tear, about to reveal her breasts to the man. Quickly her hands went to the tear, vainly trying to hold the cloth together.

“You make one more move and I will cut your throat!”

Dale knew that voice, even better than her own. She felt that familiar rush of excitement and couldn’t stop herself seeking out her lover’s face.

There she stood, like some Olympian goddess, already in motion to come to her aid. Raven hair fanned out as she sought out her enemies and then finding Dale. Her lips were curled back to reveal a snarl, her teeth grinding together in anger. Deadly sparks flew from her piercing blue eyes, pinning the giant with her gaze.

“Gaston!” The massive head nodded towards Françoise and the wiry young man complied.

Swinging his club with a certain amount of competence he moved in swiftly to finish the fight before it began. Françoise drew her sword, her heart beating frantically in anticipation of her first real fight. Fighting Gérard was one thing but a real life-or-death battle was another.

The big brute turned his attention back to the small woman, his eyes raking over her rapidly exposing body. “Now, little one. You will be nice to old Jacques, will you not?” Dale spared a glance at her lover, seeing that she was occupied with keeping the lad at bay. She was on her own.

Françoise looked over to Dale. The fight had to finish fast before it was too late. “Dale!” she screamed. “The pistol! Use the pistol!” The sight of the small woman being towered over by the hulking ruffian galvanized her into action, her determination doubling in an effort to get to Dale.

Dale looked around for the item in question sitting on the ground. With a rough push she landed on the hard earth, the wind knocked out of her. Before she had a chance to react a large smelly body was on top of her, searching for a way to get to her. Her hand flew out to land on the gun. Instinctively she grabbed it and shoved it in his face.

Jacques backed up, holding up his hands in supplication. “Now, now, there girl. There is no need for violence.” Dale had no idea what he had said but she knew he was begging.

Françoise wrestled the young man to a standstill. “Get away from her before she puts a hole in that thick head of yours.” She supplied the words that Dale could not. Returning to the fight, she only hoped that the sight of the gun was enough to hold the robber at bay until she could get to her wife. Her wife. How she wished she could make that come true.

Dale was shaking like a leaf, barely able to hold the pistol still.

“Cock the hammer, chérie.” She continued the fight, inflicting a slice across Gaston’s abdomen, forcing him to step back. “Dale! Dale!” The woman was frozen. “Pull back the hammer on the top. Pull it back!”

All thought had flown and was replaced with survival, instinct and terror. Françoise’s blade cut through the air with lethal intensity, forcing the young man even further back. He was drawing her away from the danger. With a moment to spare she reached into her boot and drew out a dagger, throwing it at the large back without much planning or thought. She hadn’t thrown a knife before but she gave that thought no mind as the steel left her hand, swirling through the air to plant itself in the middle of the target.

The behemoth began to move when he realized that the gun wasn’t primed and reached for it just as Dale did as she was told. The blade pierced his back and he lurched forward, pulling the gun out of Dale’s hand, causing it to discharge. The shot exploded into his face at such a short range. “Arrgghhh!” He collapsed, lying on the ground as even then his lifeblood flowed from him.

Driven on by fear and a savage need to reach her lover, Françoise didn’t think twice about plunging her sword into the young ruffian’s chest. The sensation of metal sliding along tissue, muscle and bone was a strange one indeed, and it was one that she knew would stay with her for a long time. But not now. There was no time for remorse or celebration. Dale needed her.

Dale stood there mesmerized, unable to tear her eyes away from the grisly scene in front of her. What had she done?

Françoise approached carefully, seeing that her young blonde was in shock. “Chérie? Dale?” Vacant eyes tracked up to her. “Are you alright?” The small woman cringed when Françoise tried to touch her, taking in the faint red spatter on her white shirt. “Come… come.” She waved her hand gently and welcomed the rush of the small body against hers. Wrapping her arms around the shaking woman, she crooned gently to her. “It is all over chérie. Everything will be fine.”

“No it won’t. I… I killed him.”

“Non, chérie. It was the knife in his back that sent him to grab the pistol. It went off when he pulled it out of your hand. It is no one’s fault.” The tall brunette tipped up the humbled face. “You hear me? You did nothing wrong, Dale. If anyone is to blame, it is them. They came here to… rob us.” Bright blue eyes dropped to the torn bodice for a moment. It was so close. Too close.

“You…,” Dale sobbed, “… you warned me and I didn’t listen. It’s all my fault.”

“It is not your fault. If anyone is to blame, it is me.”

“No!” Dale sobbed harder. Wasn’t it just like her lover to take the blame for this? “No!”

“If I had accepted imprisonment in your time then none of this would have happened.”

“And I would not have allowed it.”

“Well, then chérie, stop blaming yourself for this. This is a dangerous journey, I had told you that. Now you know.” She pulled the young woman close into a warming embrace. “Now you know…,” she whispered. “Come on, you get the horses ready and I will… finish with these two.”

“Why?”

“There is still a little light and we can find somewhere else to stay.”

“We don’t have to…”

“Chérie, I can see that you are upset. We do not need to stay here.”

Dale knew that she was right. Sleep was going to be difficult at best without the thought of two bodies only a few feet away. As she busied around collecting their belongings Françoise searched the robbers, distastefully reaching into dirty, smelly pockets for anything of use. She turned to watch her young companion a number of times, feeling a sense of guilt at taking from them as they were going to take from her, but hard times had left her no choice but to resort to desperate measures. Wasn’t that what these two men were doing? Robbing from the not so rich to feed themselves? She shook her head. She didn’t start the fight but she sure as hell finished it. As she looked one more time her eyes touched the sad green ones of Dale. Too late. “No good to them now…,” she muttered. In her hand lay a handful of small coin, barely worth the two lives sacrificed.

Despite Dale being upset at the fight Françoise’s body was singing, adrenaline pumping through her like a drug. It had all been so easy… too easy. The image of her sword piercing the boy played in her mind, slow motion exaggerating the feeling of victory in the life-or-death fight. It was addictive and something she knew she was going to have to control now.

There was nothing of real value to scavenge, so with the coin in hand and a recovered cudgel, the tall French woman walked over to help her lover with the saddles. The horses turned to leave, but not before the two women cast their eyes over the bloody scene, one with sadness and the other with the thrill of the fight.

* * *

They traveled for another hour, trying to put as much distance between them and the two bodies left behind before the light gave out. Françoise was worried. Dale had barely spoken a word since the incident, meekly riding along in response to her pleas. The French woman looked over to her riding companion, trying to decide what to do.

She spotted a gap in the brush, steering her horse off the road to take cover from prying eyes. “We will stop here tonight.” Dale merely got off the horse, tying her tether to a nearby bush, not a word passing those lips. She did the same, finally taking the small woman in her arms and moving to a nearby tree. Sliding down the bark, she held Dale in her lap, her strong arms encircling her. “Shhhh little one. I am here.”

Françoise continued to whisper to her, letting the blonde deal with her shock in her own way. The silence had been worrying. “Let it out, Dale. I…” She didn’t know if she wanted to hear this right now, but she said it anyway. “I love you… my wife.” The small body snuggled closer for comfort. Françoise tightened her hold, long fingers gently drawing circles on the apprehensive woman. “It is all over, my love.”

Françoise tilted up the shaggy blonde head, allowing Dale to see everything in her eyes. A gentle smile touched her lips, encouraging a response from the woman in her arms. Ever so slowly she lowered her lips, barely touching the wet skin before pulling back.

Dale was trying to come to terms with what had happened. This is a test… this is a test… she silently murmured. All this talk about divine intervention and she was going to falter at the first hurdle? In her heart she knew herself… knew Françoise. They were not murderers. But she could now see that her partner would do whatever it took to protect them both.

Françoise lay back against the tree, still feeling the effects of the fight in her body. Her muscles lightly twitched as images of the mêlée flashed across her mind’s eye. Gérard had never described fighting like that. She was no stranger to death but this… this was something more exciting, heart thumping…visceral. It appealed to her basest of instincts. Now she was looking for something different to appease the hunger that had been discovered.

Françoise glanced down at the head of her partner, wondering if she was the solution to her restlessness. One hunger had now fed another and she needed to immerse herself in her lover. She had faced death and survived, but now needed to celebrate life. No, Dale was too upset and she would never force the woman to do something against her will. Françoise buried her lust deep within herself, trying to ignore the soft body leaning against her.

Dale welcomed the warm strong arms around her, gently rocking in comfort while she dealt with the pain. She knew she had to put this aside because they were walking into a situation much more dangerous than what they had just been through, but for the moment she was content to just float in Françoise’s love. Oh yes, she now understood. Everything had changed.

* * *

Chapter 2

Françoise awoke the next morning with an aching back. Dale was no longer in her arms but poking at the fire in a daze. What was she going to do? “Dale?” It took a few moments for the young blonde to realize that she had spoken. “How… how are you this morning?”

Dale had spent quite a bit of time in front of that fire, the stick not only prodding the fire but also prodding her mind. She had reluctantly accepted that this was their life now. They were low on useable coin, the gold they carried having to remain hidden, and on the run into danger. Her trusting nature would have to be tucked away for safe keeping. “Getting there.”

“Yes we are, chérie, if we push the horses we should reach the main road again the day after tomorrow. There is rather a nice inn there and I, for one, would welcome a hot bath.”

Dale gently chuckled. “No, I meant I’m getting better. I still have some things to work through in my mind though.”

“Oh… I am not used to all these words you use.”

“In time, my love…” Françoise’s faced beamed. She hadn’t lost her little blonde after all. Everything would be alright, as long as they could get out of France.

“Ah, little one, it pleases my heart to hear you say those words. I… I thought I had lost you.” She looked into those pale green eyes seeing the sadness there. “I am so sorry I was not there to save you from all of this.” That was a guilt that was going to stay with her for some time. How would this affect Dale and to her own confidence in her ability to protect her wife? This escape was a double-edged sword she knew that. The journey would not be without sacrifice. She only hoped that the sacrifice would not be too much.

* * *

They pushed the horses into a steady trot, trying to cover as many miles as they could. Françoise kept up a steady stream of chatter with her partner, trying to keep their minds off what was to come.

“So, where do you think we’ll go?”

Françoise had an idea but whether it would happen would depend on what ships were in port and how urgently they needed to leave. Of course, and most importantly, she needed to find the mirror. It would make flight difficult but she was not going without it.

“There is England, but France is not a friend of England. Maybe Spain or Rome or… the Colonies.”

“America?” Dale felt a twinge of home sickness. “Can we go there?”

“If there is a ship going there, then oui.” She looked at the expectant face studying her. “But we may have to go somewhere else first. Not all ships go that far.”

“America…”

“Chérie, we may not end up there.” The French woman sighed. That look just wanted her to move heaven and earth for her partner. “I will try, ma chérie… I will try.”

* * *

Despite her somber mood, Dale’s logical mind couldn’t help but examine the practicalities of their journey. Absently she searched for various herbs along the way, knowing that at some point they may be needed. Mint for tea made a welcome addition to their meager supplies, as well as sage, thyme and bay leaves. She had found a small amount of willow bark for fevers. Hopefully when they were in Nantes Françoise could search for peppermint, lavender and ginger, and maybe some cloves, calendula and Echinacea to add to her makeshift medical kit for pain and infection. It was one time that she was glad she had persisted with Girl Scouts, the mental shopping list taking her mind off their predicament.

The rest of the journey to the crossroads was uneventful, and for that Françoise was grateful. More than enough had happened that second day.

* * *

They approached the two storey building with some trepidation. This would be their first interaction with people as husband and wife. If they could fool them here then there would be some hope that they could carry off the deception the rest of the journey. Françoise could hear the raucous laughter of drunken men. She wanted to enter the building alone but she was not confident about leaving Dale outside with the horses. Taking Dale inside was fraught with danger, after all Dale was a beautiful woman, but there was no way in Hell she was going to let her out of her sight again. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.

They rode their exhausted horses to the large barn out back, unpacking their few belongings before stripping down the animals and putting them in the waiting stalls inside.

“Come, chérie.” Françoise took a deep breath as she strode across the courtyard, reaching for the door handle to push the heavy wooden board aside to enter. The noise immediately died down, inebriated eyes watching them both cross the floor to the bar.

Dale tried not to look. Low murmurs and lewd chuckling told her what they were talking about. She drew her cloak tighter around herself, feeling like she was naked underneath. She tugged at Françoise’s sleeve. Bright blue eyes studied her, long lean fingers resting on top of her own and giving her a reassuring pat.

“Monsieur, we are in need of a room for the night.”

“Top of the stairs, last room on the right. Three sous.” The deep, gravely voice spoke of a hard life, a life that now awaited them both.

Françoise’s fingers dipped into her tattered waistband, extracting the coinage to pay for the room. She steered her companion towards the staircase, the weight of the saddlebag biting into her shoulder. The wood underneath her feet creaked ominously, feeling the strain of the gold coin she was carrying.

The room was bare but livable. “It’ll do.” Dale muttered, pushing down on the straw filled mattress.

“We deserve better, chérie. This is…”

“…what we have to get used to from now on, Françoise.” It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had not yet accepted their plight. “And the sooner you realize that your old life is gone the better.” Hadn’t that been what she had been trying to tell herself?

“Hmmm…” The tall aristocrat hadn’t even realized that point until now. She thought she had a good grasp on what was in store for them. Apparently not. Laying her hands on the small sacks at the bottom of the saddle bags, Françoise looked around for somewhere to hide them. There was precious little in the room to start with, so finding a hiding spot was near impossible. She crossed to the window and looked out. Their room sat at the back of the building, the window leading to a sheer drop to the ground below.

She looked at the only possible option. Removing her dagger from her boot she sliced open the mattress and slipped the coin bags inside. “Share the rest of our supplies through these bags, Dale.” While the small blonde did as she was asked, Françoise twisted the mattress so the tear was facing the wall. She punched the straw a few times to remove the lumps, standing back to look at the disheveled sheets and blanket.

“Let’s hope this works…” Dale muttered, looking at the result. She went over and tried to make the bed but the weight of the mattress made in nearly impossible to lift. “Oh crap…” Her back complained about moving the extra weight, a twinge causing her to jump. She persisted, finally happy with her efforts.

“I find this thirsty work. Would you like a drink?”

“There’s nothing to hang around here for. Why not?” Dale moved towards the door. “Besides, I could use a hot meal right about now.”

Françoise settled her hand on the small of her lover’s back, steering her through the door. “Your wish is my command, wife.” She could feel the ripple through Dale’s body as it vibrated up her hand. “And maybe later you can continue your bedtime story…”

* * *

“Monsieur, an ale if you please… and a cool water for my wife.” Françoise’s lips tilted at the word. She could get used to that word very easily. Her hooded eyes scanned the room, staring down each and every person watching them. She turned her attention back to the barkeep, throwing a precious coin on the counter.

“I would also like to arrange for a hot bath for my wife. The road has been long and dusty.”

The large innkeeper looked at her stunned, moments before bursting into laughter. “A bath, monsieur? You are joking, are you not?” But her silence told him otherwise. “The best I can do is a bucket of hot water.”

“Then that will do, innkeeper. Thank you.” Françoise handed over the wooden mug to Dale, not even beginning to wonder how clean either the water or the mug was. At least hers was bathed in alcohol.

“Do you have something hot to eat?”

The bullish man just nodded then indicated a bench against the far wall. Françoise sighed. It looked like they were both going to be the entertainment for a little longer while they ate. The tall brunette steered her companion towards the sturdy wooden benches that they would occupy.

Dale had hoped to escape the distasteful leers of the patrons but it was not to be. “I don’t like it here.”

“I have asked for some hot food, chérie, as you wanted. We can still go if you want…” The words petered off, knowing very well that Dale would stay. She wanted the food so she would just have to put up with the bawdy conversation. At least her partner had no idea what they were saying. She only hoped the grinding of her own teeth didn’t interfere with her eating.

Two large bowls were unceremoniously dropped to the table in front of them along with a torn piece of loaf. “Two sous.” Françoise looked up to a surly barmaid who must have been, in reality, not much older than her but looked twenty years older because of her harsh life. Once more, she reached into the tiny cloth bag and took out the coins, handing them over to the woman silently.

The brunette looked down to the bowl, her eyes widening in disgust. “What is that slop?”

“Shhhh. Cover that aristocratic streak of yours.” Dale whispered quietly, for fear of being overheard.” That is your dinner, Philippe.” She sniffed the air, taking in the aroma rising from the plate. “Actually, it doesn’t smell too bad.” She picked up the crude spoon and dipped it into the bowl. Tentatively, she tasted it. “Hmmm… not bad.” She dipped the spoon again, this time taking some meat. “I told you a hot meal was what we needed.” Reaching for the bread she tore off a small piece, dipping it into the gravy before popping it into her mouth.

Françoise poked around the syrupy mixture trying to decide whether to risk her life or not. She tore off a piece of bread and dunked it, shoving it in her mouth before she could change her mind. It took a moment or two for her taste buds to absorb the new sensation, finally deciding that the stew was not going to kill her. As if emphasizing its point, her stomach rumbled noisily.

“Now if you can get that stubborn head of yours to agree with your stomach, you’d eat the food before it got cold.” Dale kept her voice low, allowing only Françoise to hear her.

Françoise smiled benevolently. This was the Dale she knew. “Yes, my love.” For her, anything.

Despite herself Françoise didn’t stop eating until she was mopping up the bowl with the last piece of bread. “Hmmmm…. I must have been hungrier than I thought…”

“More?”

She thought for a moment. The available coin that she had was very little and she could not go throwing around gold coin without arousing suspicion. Françoise patted her stomach. “I am full, ma chérie. Do you wish for some more?”

Dale was not a stupid woman. She saw the momentary indecision on her lover’s face. “No, that was quite enough. Can we get out of here please? I feel like a piece of meat on display here.”

“In a way you are, chérie.” She looked around at the avid eyes watching them… watching Dale. Her rich blue eyes turned to look at the little blonde with their eyes. Dale was a stunning woman, but she already knew that. In fact, she was too beautiful to be a merchant’s wife.

The heavy wooden door swung open, hitting the wall with a thud. “Barkeep, eight of your best, if you please!” A man of middling height swaggered in, followed by his seven companions, his muddy brown eyes sweeping the room. “It is thirsty work ridding the world of aristos...” He laughed jovially at his own joke. “Do you not agree, my friends?”

Eights sets of eyes watched the response, hands falling to clubs, pistols, knives and swords waiting for someone to dispute their claim. There was a quiet murmur from the patrons, none wanting to join in the revelry. They only wanted to live their lives, nothing more.

While the other seven men went to the bar for their drink their leader wandered around the room, enjoying the looks of fear in those he approached. A small movement caught his eye and he shifted to the far table. “So citizen, are you not pleased that we are protecting you from those aristocratic scum?”

Françoise bit her tongue until she tasted blood. A bitter remark sat there begging to be released.

“What? You have something to say, citizen?”

A small delicate hand extended across the table to touch her clenched fist. She looked up into those hooded eyes, seeing the begging look there. “No, monsieur. I am sure that you defend the Republic very well.”

“I do not like the tone of your voice, monsieur. Are you for or against us?”

“I have always been a friend of France, monsieur. Never doubt that.”

“And who is this pretty young thing sitting with you?” Without permission, he grabbed the hood and lifted it off Dale’s head. “Well, well, well. You are most fortunate to have such a lovely wench for company.”

“I ask you not to insult my wife.” A hardened edge tinged Françoise’s words. She didn’t like the man and she certainly didn’t like the insult.

“Such a beauty should not be owned by just one man, do you not think so, monsieur?”

“I say again, she… is… my… wife. Step very carefully, monsieur.”

“That sounds a bit like a threat to me. Are you challenging the law?”

“This has nothing to do with the law and you know it!” Her voice steadily rose to match her anger.

“Well lads, maybe this young citizen needs a lesson in manners.” Evils chuckles became louder as the group approached the two women.

“Now now, Justin. We do not want a fight here.” The barkeep tried to intercede but neither combatant was interested to hear what he had to say.

“You know what? You are a coward, monsieur. You hide behind the name of the Republic to rape, rob and pillage. You, monsieur, have no honor.” A collective gasp echoes around the room. The gauntlet had been thrown down.

Dale’s eyes widened at the scene unfolding in front of her. She had no idea what was being said but she could see that Françoise was going to be in a fight very soon. Her blood pressure rose, as it always did when Françoise was assertive, and she was not able to stop the blush that tinged her face. “Philippe,” she whispered in the hope of distracting the woman. Fiery blue eyes glanced at her before returning to the smallish, slightly overweight man arrogantly standing there. Dale felt a familiar thirst that was begging to be quenched.

“Ahhh, she has the voice of an angel. I do not think you deserve her, citizen. Maybe I just might take her from you and show her what a real man is like.”

Françoise’s lips spread into a dangerous smile. If only you knew… “You can try, monsieur…” The smile widened and he backed down, not prepared to test the steel of this tall young man. “Just as I thought…” she muttered as he turned away, trying to recover some of his pride by telling his cohorts that Dale was nothing but a whore anyway. It took all of her strength not to go after the man and rip his tongue out. Live to fight another day was what Gérard had taught her.

After the unruly mob had left, the two women made their way to the bar. “I am sorry, monsieur, for the disruption.”

“No need, young man. They come in once every couple of days and cause trouble. You were right, monsieur. Not that I would tell them to their faces…” He chuckled and watched them ascend the stairs.

* * *

The adrenaline once again surfaced after the confrontation, feeding her already blossoming hunger. She could now see why men liked to fight. She had never felt so alive as in the heat of danger. Azure eyes darkened to indigo, sensual flames flickering in their depths.

“Do you think they’re waiting out there for us?”

“I hope not, chérie. There are in for a long wait if they are.” Even Françoise could hear the rough timbre in her own voice. She needed Dale and she needed her now. The door closed quietly and the two women were left facing each other. “So…” the tall brunette muttered quietly. She grabbed the only chair in the room and wedged it up against the door. If they were going to break in then it was going to take a while.

“So…,” Dale replied, her ass resting on the edge of the rough hewn table watching her companion with interest. “What do we do now?”

“What do you desire…, chérie?” Françoise poured every ounce of seduction and want into her voice as she could. She could see that Dale was fidgety and nervous. Maybe the night was not over yet.

Dale’s body knew what she wanted even if her mind was still a little skittish. “You.” She knew in her heart that everything would be fine. The look in the older woman’s eye told her everything she wanted to know. Dale approached slowly, her nimble fingers reaching for the ties on her cloak. A small smile touched her lips as she watched those vibrant blue eyes drop to her torn bodice, knowing very well what her French woman would see. Her heart beat faster as those eyes darkened with every second. “I want you in my body, in my mind, in my heart and in my soul.” She had no need to voice the words for she knew they had already come to pass. God had already blessed their union by bringing them together across time.

“Your wish is my command, my love.” Françoise approached slowly, not wanting to frighten the woman with her enthusiasm. If she had her way she would already be half-way to granting the woman her wish.

Dale wasted no time in finding the buttons on Françoise’s shirt, her own eagerness showing with every frantic movement. A finger tipped her chin up. “Are you in a hurry, little one?” She was not aware of the lone tear that trickled down her cheek until that same finger caught it and presented it to her. “Talk to me, Dale.” The small woman sought solace in those warm loving arms.

“I… I guess I’m just overwhelmed by all of… this.”

“Not what you expected, eh?”

“No… not what I expected.”

“Are… are you having second thoughts?”

“Of course not. Just give me a minute….”

“Non. About all of this… us…” Françoise gulped loudly. “Perhaps wishing this had never happened at all?”

Watery green eyes looked up into apprehensive blue ones. “How could you say that? I would never leave you, you know that. You… you… do… know… that, don’t you?”

“Yes… yes, mon amour, I know that, just as I will never leave you. It just seems all so…”

“…surreal?”

“What? What is this word?”

“It’s…” What she wouldn’t give for a dictionary right now. “It’s like living in a dream. Things are not quite real.”

“Ahh, interesting word. I shall remember that.” Françoise’s lips gently nipped the pulse point sitting at the base of Dale’s neck, feeding on the sweetness she found there.

“Never doubt that I love you with everything that I am, my love.”

“And I also, mon petit cœur. I just wish…”

“No more ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’, Françoise. We go forward from here in our life together. We do what we have to do to survive.” Did she really believe that? Accepting these words meant that she must be prepared to kill to protect them…. Françoise. She had doubts about her ability to do so, the accident proved that, but she would have to work on that. “I want a long and fruitful life with you.”

“Then I will protect you with my life.”

“No, that life is mine. You protect me with your strong right arm…” Dale smiled sweetly. “…just as I will protect you.” Dale shoved the taller woman against the table, her hands fumbling with the hand fashioned buttons on the shabby shirt. “Now… if I remember, you were supposed to grant me my wish…” Dale tore at the bandage around The French woman’s chest. Pale skin came into view, drawing her eager lips to the exposed soft skin. Those lips moved to a neglected breast, circling their target before pouncing with vigor, drawing a sharp hiss from her lover.

“Oh God, chérie! How do you do this to me?” The sweet agony Dale’s lips, tongue and teeth inflicted tore through her body. “Every time…” she whispered. A knock on the door threatened to destroy the intensity of the moment. “What do you want?” Françoise growled, blazing blue eyes possessing the excited green ones watching her.

“Your hot water, monsieur!” The voice was that of a young lad.

“Leave it at the door… thank you.” The brunette spared a moment to soften her voice before returning to the soft hands roaming down her body. “You… are… a… mon Dieu… a… troublemaker.” The hand stopped for a second, resting on the lump in her pants before continuing, caressing it as if it were a part of the French woman. The image it presented to the tall woman was nothing short of predatory. Who was going to have who? Dale’s lips resumed their wandering while that small hand never wavered from caressing her.

Françoise’s thoughts centered on where that hand was, images of what might be if she could lay her hands on… the chance of that happening now was small at best. Even the most basic of items would be hard to obtain, let alone something more… exotic. But what she would do to this woman if she had one. For now, it had to remain a fantasy of her fertile imagination.

The momentary distraction did little to cool the fire in the pit of her belly. It had been simmering since the fight and showed little sign of abating. Françoise batted away Dale’s hand and nearly ripped off the buttons as she attempted to move away the leather blocking her lover’s access. The almost vicious action telegraphed her urgency and Dale wasted no time giving the French woman what she wanted.

In the blink of an eye Françoise’s breeches were around her ankles, laying her bare to Dale’s advances. Moist lips left a wet trail as they sought her out finally circling the source of her need. There was an almost audible sigh as Dale latched on and drew her in, the suction almost painful as Françoise was swept away. She had been riding a knife edge for quite a while and her passion was paramount. It had been held back for too long and now it was like a dam breaking, the sudden rush of completion flowing over her nearly drowning her with its intensity. But it was not enough… not nearly enough. It left her with a need for more.

Dale could feel the darkness slip away as Françoise responded as only she could. While the images of the assault were still fresh in her mind, they did not hold the menace that they first did. Françoise was there to protect and love her and that was enough. She watched enviously as the French woman threw back her head and shuddered. Very little sound came this time, her face contorted in what she assumed was intense pleasure.

Before Françoise had a chance to ground herself Dale had moved, her fingers slipping into her easily and quickly in an effort to continue the pleasure. The table creaked as her fingers gripped the wood tightly, nearly snapping off splinters as Dale played her. She could barely breathe as all her attention was on those two active fingers that moved in a constant rhythm.

Françoise tried to watch, she really did, but she had very little control over her own body so intense was her response. There was no up or down, back or forward. There was only being. She tried to spread her legs to gain more but the breeches pooled around her ankles had her effectively tied.

Dale could easily read her lover’s intentions and was eager to comply. She shifted her stance to allow her hip to add weight behind her hand. Anchoring one hand to Françoise’s hip, Dale began rocking steadily against her other hand, making the movement more forceful and increasing the gratification ten-fold. The table creaked ominously with each thrust and Dale looked into storm-tossed eyes for some guidance.

“If you stop now I will kill you,” Françoise murmured. She had no idea what she was saying, only expressing the need to continue.

For a second Dale blinked. Had Françoise said what she thought she had said? It was ridiculous to assume she meant it and dismissed it as the ramblings of a mad woman. She increased her tempo slowly, allowing her thumb to come into play.

It struck like a lightning bolt, washing away the animal hunger that had been residing in her and replacing it with an all-consuming need to love and be loved. Dale had been the perfect choice for her, and for that she thanked God. The woman had balanced the darkness that had been part of her life and showed her love in all its infinite designs. To make it perfect she wished that Dale was in that place as she was at that moment.

Dale watched Françoise unravel before her, eyes closed shut and her bottom lip quivering. She wasn’t sure whether her lover was crying or not, but knowing the woman as she did it seemed unlikely. Dale slowed down, resting her body against the tortured wood.

There was a certain amount of satisfaction in making Françoise fall apart. The woman was very experienced, she knew that, and to be able to encourage such emotion was very pleasing indeed. She observed her lover sprawled across the dirty table, trying to gain some strength to rise. Even as that thought crossed her mind the French woman rose, reaching for her breeches in one swift motion.

Françoise ignored her state of undress, except for her pants which needed to be hitched if she wanted to walk. She stalked her prey, slowly backing Dale towards the door. “Now…” Her lips swooped down on the twitching skin of her throat, sucking viciously as if trying to draw her life force to the surface.

Dale’s hands grabbed Françoise’s waist in desperation. The lips on her neck were forceful and demanding, leaving her no choice but to surrender. Familiar stirrings burst into life, washing away any doubts she had and led her to that place that only Françoise had the map for.

“Mon amour, je t'aime de toutes les fibres de mon âme.” Françoise murmured in a language that crossed the borders of time and space. “Je t'aimerai jusqu'à mon dernier souffle de vie, et au-delà.” She glanced up from her work to see the result of her words. A tiny shudder shook the frame under her lips and she couldn’t help but smile

“Oh God, that still works,” Dale’s voice had dropped to a seductive whisper. “Say some more…”

“La flamme éblouissante de notre amour fait pâlir les étoiles dans le ciel.” The language was sensual and mysterious, appealing to Dale’s basic instincts.

While her lover was wrapped in a verbal haze, Françoise’s fingers found the edge of her torn bodice and pulled gently down. It would be so simple to just rip the clothes off the woman but a small kernel of common sense whispered to her that Dale only had one dress.

Françoise reined in her wildly escalating libido and tugged at the décolleté to reveal more and more skin until Dale’s breasts were freed from their cloth prison. The barrier now removed, Françoise gave herself permission to ravage. And so she did, being neither gentle nor slow.

Dale felt the storm approach even before Françoise touched her. Gone were the tender caresses and loving declarations. She was assaulted by the tidal wave of their physical attraction, driving her towards her peak so quickly that she couldn’t remember the journey. One moment her lover was suckling at her breast, the next thing she remembered was the woman doing the same thing lower, expertly bringing her to such completion that she blacked out for a moment.

“Damn…” Dale’s senses returned a moment later.

“What, chérie?” Françoise uttered between moist kisses.

“I missed it. I must have passed out. Can you do that again?” Meekly she glanced down at her partner on her knees in front of her.

“Certainement.” That one word was said with absolute conviction that it gave Dale goosebumps. "Avec plaisir…"

* * *

“You dare disobey me?” Le comte’s voice was at odds with his words. While the inflection held menace his timbre was weak, sounding nearly like a boy speaking.

Françoise cowered back. He was a portly man in his late fifties but he still commanded fear.

His hand rose to strike a blow, the riding crop in his fist singing through the air as it descended…

Françoise awoke in a light sweat. It took a moment or two to become aware of a loud banging on the door. “Monshhieur!” The incessant thumping reverberated through her brain.

“What… what’s going on?” The sleep-tainted voice of Dale drew her attention away from the door.

“Shhhh Go back to sleep, chérie,” she whispered, trying to lull her lover back to slumber.

“Open up! I wishhh t..to… ummm…” The voice dropped to a gentle mumbling before the owner once again pounded on the door. “Come and faaaaccee meeeee, monshh…,” he slurred, the intonation reeking of alcohol.

Annoyed she arose, quickly donning her disguise. It took a moment to light a candle, drawing the ire of the person constantly bashing on the door. Removing the chair she wrenched the door open, sword in hand, to face the annoying little man from earlier in the evening. She was pleased to see that he was alone so any violence was with him alone. “It is the middle of the night. What do you want?” Françoise thought she had settled the matter of who Dale belonged to. Maybe he didn’t hear her the first time.

“I am looking for you.” His portly body swayed in the dim light

Her large hand came up to his chest, effectively blocking his entrance. “This bed is taken. Try another room.” Françoise looked out the door. “Where are your companions?”

“Out there…somewhere. But I do not sleep with the likesh of them… hmmmm…” Muddy eyes closed for a moment and Françoise wondered whether the man had fallen asleep where he stood. “I am... I am… I do not like the open air and the hard ground.”

“I do not care if your life depends on it monsieur, you are not crossing this portal.” To prove her point the sword rose to sit level with his chest. “Now leave us alone!”

The vigilante leader reached for his crotch to give it a scratch. Lovely. Françoise’s mind screwed up its nose in distaste. “Refushing a…a…errr… son of the Republish? You have made a dangeroush enemy tonight, monsheeuurr! You be… betterrrr watch your back!”

Françoise had had enough, prodding him with the tip of her sword. “Go away, little man!”

The staircase creaked as the darkness slowly gave way to a lone candle. “Justin?” The deep gruff voice of the barkeep drew their attention away from the confrontation. “Come, back to bed.”

“Non.” The scraggly-headed man shook his head violently, nearly causing him to lose his balance.

“There is no bed here. Marie is waiting for you…”

Françoise watched the exchange with interest. Who was Marie?

“Go and sleep it off, Justin. There is nothing here for you.” Both Françoise and the barkeep watched as the tipsy man wandered off, holding their breaths as he unsteadily negotiated the staircase to the bottom. There was a thud a moment later, accompanied by a rather virulent curse.

“I am sorry for the disturbance, monsieur. He does not like to be taken down like a stag in the forest, especially in front of a room full of people.”

“Then he should not have insulted my wife, monsieur.” Despite the portly man’s pleas, Françoise was still seething at the affront.

“Marie will calm his temper. She always does.”

“If he already has a bedmate, why is he seeking out mine?”

“Bed…” He chuckled. “Non, monsieur. Marie is his sister… my wife.”

“Oh. I am sorry, monsieur…”

“Non. Justin is a troublemaker. He always has been and always will be. It is only because he is my brother-in-law that I put up with him at all.” In the dim light, he gave her an apologetic smile. “It would… I think it would be better if you were not here for breakfast, monsieur.”

“You may be right. I do not want any trouble.”

“Goodnight then and safe journey.”

“Goodnight, monsieur.” She closed the door, causing Dale to stir. “Back to sleep, ma chérie.”

“What’s going on?” Dale smacked her lips as the lethargy dropped away from her.

“It was that troublemaker from earlier in the night. First he wanted you, now he wants our bed.”

“Well, it’s occupied and I’m not about to give it up.”

“I told him that. But he was insistent. Maybe he wanted the bed warmer rather than the bed.”

“That weasely little man? Ewwww gross. Besides I only have one bed warmer in my bed, my love, and I’m looking at her.” Dale snuggled into the tattered blanket to feel its warmth. Delicious memories filled her mind of their play earlier in the evening, spreading a sensual lassitude over her body. “Come back to bed Françoise.” She pulled the blanket back invitingly, letting the French woman see her naked body. A seductive smile touched her lips as she saw those blue eyes darken.

It was all so impossibly easy. They had known each other a scant few weeks and yet they blended together like they had known each other all their lives. Maybe they had. They just hadn’t met until recently. What should be a situation that should scare her, she liked the fact that if they were any closer they would be living in each other’s skins. It was comforting, it was exciting… it was right.

Dale watched intently as Françoise disrobed, studying the play of muscles as they moved under the pale skin. She would never tire of seeing her naked, stripped of all but who she was. There was no disguise, no pretense and no hiding.

The tall brunette sauntered towards the waiting arms of her lover, watching those eyes skim over her skin. Desire spiked through her. Again? So soon?

“Do you think he’s going to be a problem?”

“Maybe. If he can remember it after he wakes up.” She made a decision. “I do not think we should put off leaving until the morning, chérie.”

“Then maybe we better stay awake.”

A sly smile crossed Françoise’s lips. “Absolutely…”

* * *

Despite her best intentions Dale fell asleep, cuddled up in the warm loving arms of Françoise. The French aristocrat lay quietly, her hand idly drawing circles on the warm skin lying over her. Her mind floated peacefully as she looked out the window at the night sky, contemplating the events of the previous night with a lot of affection and some concern.

Her eyes drifted to the crown of Dale’s head. The small woman had no idea what a lifesaver she had been. Françoise had been living her life with a careless disregard for her own health, and she knew that sooner of later she would fall victim to some disease or other, but she didn’t really care. Her husband had stripped away her dignity, her self-respect and her will to live, leaving her living an empty life. Until…

Until that night with Madeleine… she didn’t know what made her open her eyes at that particular moment, but she did. Looking up into the mirror she expected to see nothing more than the reflection of her having sex with… someone, anyone, it didn’t matter anymore. But, as if standing at a window looking in, was this waif, this angel, watching them… no, watching her as she sought her pleasure. And yet she could feel her, feel her excitement, feel her loneliness, feel her pain. From that very first moment the woman had stolen her heart and saved her from herself.

Now that same woman was fleeing with her from danger. Because of her, Dale had given up her home, her family and her time to live in a time fraught with danger. Why did Dale do that? Why did she allow it? Because it meant to save Dale she would have to leave her, and she could no more do that than cut off her right arm. Maybe Dale felt the same.

Her thoughts turned to the annoying little man who had been bothering them all evening. She could not blame him for his need, after all Dale was a very beautiful woman, but his arrogant supposition that all he had to do was ask and he would get her made her burn. It was hypocritical of him to claim to be protecting the Republic when he himself was acting like a bully. She didn’t act like that, did she?

She, and those of her class, had been born to the life, carefully nurtured and taught the expectations and liberties of that life. Here was a man who aggressively sought out power and was blatantly using it for his own ends, claiming his rights with intimidation and violence. Were the people any better off with this kind of man protecting them? She could not afford to stay around to find out.

As she contemplated the journey ahead and where they would ultimately end up, the sky shifted from pitch black to the grey of pre-dawn. Françoise shook her companion gently. “Chérie, time to wake up.”

“Huh? I didn’t fall asleep, did I?” Bleary green eyes looked up into amused blue ones.

“That is fine, chérie. We could not move until light anyway.”

“I thought we were leaving before now.”

“And what, Dale? We could not see where we were going.” She gently chided her lover. “Come on. Let us move quickly now before there is any trouble.”

Quickly and quietly they dressed and packed up, moving swiftly to the barn to collect the horses. They led them down the road for a short distance before mounting the nags, nudging them into a slow walk until they were a safe distance from the inn.

“If we move swiftly we should reach the outskirts of Nantes by nightfall.” With that, Françoise kicked her horse into a canter, followed by an answering click of a tongue to move the second horse.

* * *

As expected, they reached the outskirts of Nantes as the last rays of the sun touched the tallest building in the town. The two horses stopped at the bridge that crossed the Loire and led into the township. Françoise was nervous. She had sworn to herself never to return here but here she was. So many bad memories here.

“Are you alright?” Dale glanced over at her companion to see the muscles in her jaw twitching in the fading light.

“Yes, mon amour. Everything is fine. I am tired and this… thing is most unpleasant.” She made a show of grabbing the leather piece in her pants and trying to push it out of the way. Dale would never know what happened here. Never.

“It’s been a long day, that’s for sure.” All those pains she had discovered that first day on the road reared their ugly heads and made her life miserable all day. What she would give for a long hot bath.

* * *

Françoise found a comfortable inn in the centre of the city, the horses housed in a nearby livery. They had eaten their dinner in silence and without interruption, finally taking refuge in their room and a small bath waiting for Dale.

Dale was worried. Françoise had barely said two words during dinner and now she was lounging on the bed watching her bathe. “What’s wrong? Have… have I done something wrong?”

“No, chérie. I am just thinking about what to do next, that is all.” Françoise hated lying to Dale, but they were playing a game of ‘you do not ask and I will not tell’.

“Can we try to get some soap tomorrow?” She held up the rag she was sponging herself with. “Water can do only so much…”

“What about the soap he gave you?”

“This thing?” Dale held up the finger of what she thought must have been a bar of soap. “I couldn’t wash a cat with this!”

“Hmmm…..” It would mean leaving Dale alone, but she would go. It was either that or carry the gold with them. “Is there anything else you need while I am there?”

Dale thought for a moment, trying to make a mental shopping list. “Where are we going from here?”

“I will visit the dock tomorrow to see what ships are there.”

“America?” Could she go home?

“It will depend on what ship we can get passage on. We cannot wait, Dale. We have to leave… now.”

“Fine. Okay. Now let’s see… some needle, thread and some material. Just plain white material.”

“Material? What on earth do you need material for?”

“First of all, I’d like a pair of underpants, Françoise. I don’t like walking around naked underneath. Also…” She really didn’t like talking about this… “I need something for my monthly visitor.”

“You are expecting someone, chérie? We will be on a ship, not at my chateau.”

“No, no… errr… my monthly visitor is my…. Oh God…. my period.”

“Period?”

“You just want me to say it, don’t you?” Dale sighed nervously. “My period… my monthly bleeding, alright? How do you cope with it?”

Françoise’s lips tightened. “I do not have a problem with that, Dale.”

“Why?”

“Because… because… I do not. That is all you need to know.” She left the sentence at that, telling Dale not to ask any more.

Dale tried to process what Françoise had told her. Had she ever wanted children? Was that why she was upset? Or was there something more to this? She could see that her lover had been edgy since they first started traveling on the road. Something had happened here, something that had a devastating effect on her French woman. Something that she knew she was never going to be privy to.

* * *

They had just fallen asleep after a bout of particularly playful lovemaking. Françoise was floating in that state between sleep and awake when there was a pounding on the door. Was this what it was like in the real world? People waking her at all hours of the night? Sleepily, she got dressed before answering the door. “I do not appreciate my sleep being disturbed…”

Before her stood three brawny men, wearing somber faces and batting their hands with clubs. “Monsieur, can I help you?” Françoise felt her voice waiver as she tried to stay composed.

The leader of the group looked her up and down carefully. She felt as if he had stripped away her clothes, leaving her standing there naked. “Where have you traveled from citizen?” The deep voice resonated through her, unnerving her.

“Anjou.”

“And how goes things there?”

Was this a trick question? “Confused, monsieur. Not a lot of news travels quickly to Anjou.”

“And where are you going?”

“That is my business, monsieur.”

“Not tonight, citizen. We are the law here, so I ask you again… where are you traveling to?”

“Home, monsieur.” She felt it best to keep her lies simple. “My wife comes from the Colonies. We were visiting my family here when Paris fell. I am taking her home.”

Dark eyes looked past her to a sleeping Dale, slowly drawing over the prone body. Françoise stepped to one side to block their view. “I do not appreciate you looking at my wife in a state of undress, monsieur.”

At that moment a melodic voice spoke. “Philippe?” Dale at least had the presence of mind to use the right name.

The leader’s eyes narrowed again for long moments, staring intently at Françoise, before turning to leave. “Then leave quickly, citizen.”

Shakily Françoise closed the door, leaning heavily on the wood as her insides trembled. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat from the close scrutiny and her nerves were on edge.

“What was that all about?”

“We cannot stay here chérie. I have an uneasy feeling about this. I do not wish to be here if he decides to come back. Quickly… get dressed.”

* * *

They left by the available ground floor window to the street. There were men everywhere, some standing around outside the inn drinking, others knocking on all the doors up and down the street and others simply leaning against walls watching. The horses were now inaccessible and left them to travel on foot.

Françoise thought quickly. It was the middle of the night. They had very little available money. The city was swarming with guards. They had nowhere to go except the one place she wanted to avoid. “Follow me,” she whispered as they disappeared into the shadows of the night.

They had to detour many times before eventually reaching the dock area, now standing outside a large scarred wooden door. Over the portal hung a swinging sign saying ‘Le panier fleuri de Lucette’.

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere where I hope someone will help us.” She was not sure what reception they would get but they had nowhere else to go. Françoise didn’t even bother to knock, knowing very well that this particular establishment never closed.

“Errr… may I help you, monsieur?” The young woman who greeted them was a little surprised to see a young man with a woman behind him.

“I wish to see Madame Didieur please.”

“Is she expecting you, monsieur?”

“No, but she will want to see me.” Françoise’s insides were knotted. As expected, she looked at her hands to see a slight tremor. Her chest tightened up as she saw the approach of a woman whom she knew as well as her own mother.

“May I help you, monsieur?” As the older woman said the words a strange look came over her face.

“Lucette…” Françoise spoke normally to the woman, seeing the hazel eyes widen in recognition.

“Come… come…” Lucette quickly ushered them into her room, closing the door behind them. “Françoise! Oh my God! I thought you were dead.”

“I had to disguise myself, tantine. I… I have run out of places to hide.”

Dale watched as the conversation went on, feeling a tinge of jealousy as the older woman pulled Françoise in a friendly embrace. Another secret she was not privy to. It seemed that her lover had a lot of hidden secrets. Dale blushed as the conversation seemed to have turned to her.

“And who is this young woman?” Lucette was intrigued.

“This is Dale. She is my…” What could she say? The love of my life? My lover? “…wife.”

“Épouse?” Lucette looked closely at the woman who had captured this wild young woman’s heart. There was obviously more to the small blonde than just looks. “So… Dale. I am pleased to meet you.”

“Et bien… Dale. Je suis enchantée de faire votre connaissance.” The words should mean something, Dale knew that, but her French was still very poor.

“She cannot speak French, tantine. She comes from the Colonies… America.”

“Ahhh… America. Bien.” Lucette thought for a moment, marshalling her thoughts. “ ‘allo Dale. I... am… please… meet you.”

“Moi aussi, madame.” Dale looked over to the benevolent smile on her lover’s face. “Did I say it right?”

Lucette went to the door and opened it, calling for the same young woman who had greeted them. “Amélie, prepare the back room for our guests please.” She handed over the key to the locked room. The woman escorted them down a long hall to the last door.

“What’s going on in there?” There was the occasional moan and scream emanating from the various rooms along the way.

Françoise started to blush. “What it sounds like, chérie.”

“Oh?” A sultry giggle touched her ears. “…Ohhhhhh….” Dale could feel the heat tinge her face. “Oh,” she whispered, too embarrassed to ask why they were there.

“Oui…” The French woman could see the confusion on her young companion’s face, surprised when a question didn’t come.

“You should be safe here, little one.”

“What about the others?”

“They can be trusted… sir.” Lucette smiled. “Now let us all get some sleep and we will talk in the morning.” She handed over the key to allow the couple to secure the room from the inside. “Bonne nuit… Dale.”

“Bonne nuit, madame.” The American twang made the French seem foreign.

“Madame? Non… errrr… Lucette… please.” A gentle smile touched her lips as she addressed the young foreigner.

“Then bonne nuit… Lucette.” An answering smile came from the small woman.

After the older woman left, Dale turned to her lover. “A bordello, Françoise?”

“There was nowhere else to turn.”

“They know you in a bordello?” Dale waited for an answer but got none.

“I am tired, chérie. Time for sleep.” With those final words, Françoise undressed and climbed into bed for sleep. Dale just stood there looking at her, wondering what had just happened. Hopefully the morning would reveal the answers that she was looking for.

* * *

Chapter 3

Dale woke to an empty bed. Her hand slid over the sheet to feel the fading warmth. She looked around the room to see that their belongings were still there. Maybe Françoise was talking to Lucette. Inhaling the scent that was her lover, Dale smiled gently. Sights, smells and emotions ruled her life now, her five senses continually painting the loving image that was already imprinted on her soul. She rubbed her face into Françoise’s pillow, bathing her nose in the French woman’s scent.

She rose and got dressed, donning her cloak to cover the rip in her bodice. Opening the door Dale wandered down the hallway, closing her ears to the sounds emanating from behind closed doors. What on earth possessed Françoise to bring them here? The door to one of the front rooms opened and a portly middle-aged man staggered out, his hands fumbling for the buttons on his pants. “Well, well, well… Hey Lucette! Your quality of women is getting better!” He made a grab for Dale’s behind, giving it a firm pinch.

“Hey!” She swung around to face the lecherous man trying to feel her up. Her brow wrinkled as her anger showed. “Don’t… errr…” She stopped, realizing the language barrier.

“What is going on here?” It took a moment for the woman to assess the situation. “Henri, you have had your fun, now back to your wife…” Ushering the man out into the street, she turned her attention to her guest. “Dale… come.” Dale was surprised to see Lucette’s room was empty.

“Where’s Françoise?”

Lucette thought for a moment. “Elle est allée au marché… Errr… mar… mark…”

“Market ? Françoise has gone to the market?”

“Market. Oui.” The older woman studied the young blonde curiously. “You… Françoise…”

“Yes, we are a couple.”

“Cup… couple… ah oui. Bien. English not good.” Dale suspected that Lucette’s exposure consisted mainly of English sailors and that her vocabulary would be liberally spattered with many a salty word.

“How do you know Françoise?” Dale wanted to know.

“Quoi donc?”

“You… Françoise…” Dale brought her fingers together and saw the answering understanding in those aged eyes. “S’il vous plait…” Françoise was not going to tell her but this woman knew the whole truth.

“Non…. “ Lucette shook her head and waved her hands. “Non… non… non.”

Dale grabbed her hands, holding them gently. “Please…. I have to know.”

Dark brown eyes watched her, finally closing as if making a decision. “Le comte…”

“The Count? Françoise’s husband? What has he got to do with it?”

“It’s none of your business…” The deep voice resonated through the tiny room.

Dale’s eyes swept to the door to see Philippe standing there. “Ahhh, my handsome husband…” But the compliment was not going to get her out of trouble. Françoise put down her basket full of parcels and closed the door.

“I wanted you to leave this matter alone but you went behind my back.”

“That’s because I knew you would never tell me!”

“Did you ever think it was because I did not want you to know?”

“Arrêtez!” Lucette raised a hand to stop the argument. “What is going on?”

“Why were you going to tell her? She does not need to know…”

“Why not let her be the one to decide that, little one.”

“Tantine, I… I…”

“I understand, child, you do not want to appear a fool in front of her.”

“It is more than that, Lucette. Terrible things happened here, things that still haunt me.”

“And we all live with them here, child.”

“I know, tantine.” The young aristocrat sighed deeply. “I know. I am so sorry for what he did to you and your girls.”

“Do not forget to include yourself in that forgiveness, Françoise. You suffered too.”

“Maybe, but I am not the one carrying the visible scars of his tortured preferences.”

“But you helped… in your own way.”

“I know… but it is not enough, tantine… it is never enough.”

“Put your mind at rest, child. None of us here harbor any ill will against you. The money you sent us helped where it was most needed.” But Lucette could see that Françoise was not convinced. She would suffer for the rest of her life just as they all would under this roof. “Tell her. She deserves to know…”

Dale watched intently at the exchange, reading the bowed tenseness in the long lean body of her partner. Although she didn’t know the exact details she could read the conversation easily as if they had spoken English. “You don’t have to tell me…” she muttered. “I’m sorry, my love, for asking Lucette but I could see that you were troubled. I just wanted to help.”

Françoise’s mind raced in all directions. Should she accept Dale’s offer to finish it or should she reveal all? Would that revelation be the wedge to drive them apart? Maybe that was what had kept her from saying anything. The depth of her depravity would be too much of a shock for her young naïve companion. Piercing blue eyes looked over the top of her lover’s head to the woman standing behind her. A gentle nod told her what she knew she had to do.

“This…,” she whispered but she was unable to put any volume into what she wanted to say, “…this is my second home, chérie. I know this place well.”

“You…?” Dale was shocked. “You were a prostitute?” She looked deeply into those sad eyes. “I don’t believe it! No, no that’s not right.”

Lucette cleared her throat. Even with her bad English she was able to pick up what Françoise had said. “Non, mon petit cœur, for… him.”

“He brought you here?” Françoise could only nod in answer. “Why?”

“Bad man,” Lucette spat the words out, the venom tainting each and every letter, “Bad… bad man.”

Dale looked back at her lover, eager eyes urging the French woman to tell her all. “Remember when I said he was the devil? It was no idle comment, chérie. He was an evil man. His tastes in sex were…. Umm…”

“Perverse?” Dale thought the worst possible things and then some.

“Ahh… yes… perverse.” The young woman looked to Lucette for confirmation, receiving an energetic nod.

“He…” Françoise’s head hung in shame, only to be tipped up by a gentle finger. “He made me…,” she looked to Lucette, “…us do unspeakable things, chérie. When I say I have done everything, mon amour, I mean everything.” A lone tear was intercepted on its journey down her pale face. All was now laid to bare.

“Is that why you can’t have children, my love?” Dale kept her voice low, quiet and loving. It was such a sad, sad tale and certainly explained her hidden hostility towards the Marquis de Sade. Françoise had presented an air of disinterest whenever his name was mentioned but she had seen the little flinches or the occasional twitch of an eye. She was learning to read what the woman didn’t say.

All Françoise could do was nod. Her emotion had stripped away her voice, leaving it as nothing more than a whisper. “Some of these women were not as lucky as me. At least my scars were on the inside.”

“And no less painful, my love.” But the pain in those eyes clouded them, turning what was normally a clear brilliant blue to a muddy aquamarine. “You have nothing to be sorry for, just as these women have nothing to be sorry for. Do you understand?” Her hand rose to gently stroke a quivering cheek, calming the shaking soul underneath it.

“Now do you see why I did not want to tell you? He does this to me. I have never feared anything in my life, except him. I could not leave because he would hunt me down. Out of spite he would hurt these women here.”

“See? Honor-bound to the last breath, just as I knew you would be.” Dale smiled gently at the stoic façade.

“Pardon?”

“Even then you were thinking as much of these woman as you were of yourself. You were in a horrible position, my love, and yet you bore it to protect them.” Her hand lifted to point to Lucette.

“I… I never thought of it that way.”

“No… you wouldn’t. That’s just you. You take responsibility for everything, even when it’s not your fault. You are a good woman, Françoise Marie Aurélie de Villerey, whether you admit it to yourself or not.”

A wisp of a smile touched the aristocrat’s lips, finally getting a grasp on the memories that had haunted her for years. Maybe Dale was right. It was not fear that kept her there but a need to protect those around her. Hmmm… it was something to think about.

“Are you going to tell her everything, little one?” Lucette looked on with concern. “What about how he died?”

“No, tantine!” Françoise didn’t mean to show her anger but the words flew out of her mouth before she could temper them. “She is to never know, do you understand me? That is for you and I and we will die with that secret.”

“But–“

“I said no!” Françoise tipped her head back, trying to rein in her roiling emotions.

“Are you afraid that she will think less of you?” Lucette didn’t mind the anger. Le comte had that effect on everyone he ever met.

“Of course not!” She tried to sound indignant but they both knew the truth.

“Have you finished discussing what you’re not going to tell me? Just put your husband’s memory where it belongs… in the ground.” Dale really wanted to know but by her lover’s reaction that was something she just had to forego.

Françoise instinctively moved closer to her partner, her hand idly caressing the swell of breast peeking out from the torn bodice. “How do you manage to always say the right thing, mon cœur?”

“Because I know you, my love. You faced your fear and you defeated him.”

“I did?” Surprised eyes looked at her.

“Of course. You are here, he is not.”

The French woman’s head tilted back as she laughed. “Ahhh….only you would find a good side to bad memories.”

“It made you smile, didn’t it?”

“It surely did, little one.”

“Then my job is done.”

Lucette watched the interaction with keen interest, seeing with her own eyes the obvious love these two women had for each other. Even a blind man standing in the street could see that. She made a move towards the door to leave them alone.

“And where are you going, tantine?”

The older woman jumped. “Do not scare me like that, little one!” She had not been aware that she had been watched. “I am letting you two have some time alone.”

“If we wanted that, Lucette, our room is only down the hall. Come…” Françoise moved to the basket and extracted a piece of cloth. “Try one.” She offered Lucette a small hand-made pastry nestled in the cloth before offering them to Dale and finally taking one herself. “Hmmm… palets bretons.”

“So, what have you been up to?” Dale felt a need to change the subject.

“What you asked me to do, chérie.” Françoise reached into the basket and extracted two parcels, tossing them to her partner. “Those herbs you wanted and the cloth. And a few other things that I thought we would need.”

“But did you find the soap?” To Dale that was the most important thing.

“It was not easy, mon cœur. It seems that this city does not believe in bathing.” She pulled out two waxy bars and passed them over to Dale. “Non, I could not find the shopkeeper. I had to barter for these so use them wisely.”

Dale held the presents against her chest, as if jealously guarding them, before placing them back in the basket. “Soap… soap… soap…” She quietly sang with childish glee.

Françoise chuckled at her partner’s antics, pleased to see that look of joy on her face once more. “Come, we will leave Lucette to her business.”

“Tantine, if you need us we will be in our room.”

“I will knock first…” The older woman chuckled, knowing what will be going on in that room.

Françoise looked at the younger woman. “Good idea…”

* * *

The two women were walking down the shadowed corridor when a large hand grabbed Dale’s elbow. “Now, here is a willing bed warmer…”

“Monsieur, I am sorry but I have claimed her first.” The tall aristocrat tried to steer Dale around the man obstructing the hallway.

“You have no other business than to attend to me, wench!” His aggressive manner told her he would not take ‘no’ for an answer. He kicked in the nearest door and pushed Dale inside. Françoise followed closely behind intent on protecting her from the boorish peasant. “Now, get those clothes off quickly, woman. I paid good money for some service.” He was already reaching for his belt, fumbling with the rough hewn buckle that held his pants up.

They were cornered. If Françoise caused a fuss the man could look more closely at them and maybe discover that she was a woman. The walls were closing in on her as she realized which room this was. Dale looked over to see her lover standing stock still. “What’s wrong?” she murmured.

“This room…” she mumbled. At that moment, the door flew open and half a dozen women entered, moving to their customer and surrounding him. Lucette pulled the two women out, pushing them towards their room at the end.

“I am so sorry, little one. He was too quick for me.” She looked to see the tight jaw. “Are you alright?”

“That room.” Françoise took a deep breath, allowing the precious air to flow through her.

Dale looked at Lucette in inquiry. “Room… him… bad man.” Pale eyes widened and looked up at her partner. While Françoise tried to gain control of her emotions, Dale could see that her strong-willed, confident mate was held in the grasp of very powerful, hateful memories.

Françoise took a calming breath. “You are right… he is dead….” But even from the grave he had a hold over her. Now, leaving these shores was more important than ever.

“We have to get out of here,” she voiced shakily.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“It is too dangerous here, chérie.”

“But… but…” Things were moving too fast for Dale. “What is going on?” She watched her partner’s eyes flicker along the hallway. “If it’s because of him…”

“No!” Françoise said it a little more forcefully than she needed to. “No. There will be trouble here… soon.” Pushing Dale into their room, she moved around quickly and quietly, reaching into the bottom of their bag for some coin. “Make your pants, Dale.” She tossed the wrapped packet in the direction of the smaller woman. “I will be back soon.”

“Where are you going now?” Dale was still trying to digest all that she had been told so far.

“To find a ship…”

* * *

As she emerged into the dull light of a cloudy day Françoise breathed a sigh of relief. With a name from Lucette in her possession she went in search of a moneylender who would not ask questions about gold coin. The sooner they left this Godforsaken country the better.

* * *

Françoise stepped onto the wooden pier. Things did not look good. There was only one ship moored at the now-deserted waterfront.

“Monsieur…,” she addressed an aging fisherman sitting on the edge of a pylon, “where are the ships?”

“All gone. That one is the only one left.”

“When are more due?”

“Not for four or five days, monsieur.”

Damn… She now had no choice, unless they left Nantes and took to the road once again. Maybe Bordeaux… She took a step towards the waiting ship.

“But I would not travel on that one.”

“Why?”

“It is a slave ship, monsieur, or so I have been told.”

“Told?”

“I have not seen this ship before. It is smaller than the regular slave ships that stop here, but sailors off it claim that it is indeed picking up slaves.”

Burning blue eyes studied the vessel, noticing the garnish symbol on the stern. ‘Le Renard’. “Where will it be heading?”

“Where they all do. First to Africa then across the water to the Colonies.”

The Colonies? Maybe she could honor her promise to Dale after all. “America?”

“Non, monsieur. St. Domingue.”

Françoise looked at the ship once more. If it got them part-way there, maybe they could find another ship to take them the rest of the way. She ignored the possibility that they could be killed in a slave rebellion or end up stranded in a port that could be even more dangerous than the one there were now in. Her feet moved before she had even completed the thought, her mind made up.

“Your need must be great then, monsieur.”

She looked over her shoulder to see dark eyes studying her carefully. “It is, monsieur. My wife’s father is gravely ill and we need to get to America as quickly as we can.” The intense stare softened a little but she was not sure whether the reason was good enough, at least in this man’s eyes. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Boldly she strode along the pier, the wooden planks vibrating with each sturdy step. She stood at the bottom of the gangway looking up at the deck. A couple of burly sailors glanced up from their work, their weather-beaten faces scowling at her approach.

“I wish to see the Captain!” Her voice was deep and strong, the words reverberating through the wood for a moment before floating away on the fresh sea breeze.

Neither of them spoke but one dropped his rope and walked off towards the cabins. A moment later another man emerged, dressed in clothes that were more for show than practicality. “Yes?” His voice was deep and gravely and spoke of malevolence.

Françoise took an instant disliking to the man. She almost turned away but a scuffle at the dock front strengthened her resolve. How long could the trip be anyway? “I am looking for passage to St. Domingue, Captain.”

“I do not take passengers, at least not willing ones…” He laughed loudly, his stained decaying teeth on full display. The two sailors joined in the joke chuckling in response to their Captain.

“Nevertheless, monsieur, I am asking for passage for myself and my wife.” The grin changed from one of joviality to one of hunger.

“You are in a hurry to get out of France?” His eyes narrowed as he tried to find the truth in Françoise’s azure eyes.

“In a way, Captain. My wife is from America and her father is gravely ill. We need to get home as quickly as possible.” She kept her gaze calm and unwavering as she spoke the words.

“One hundred livres… each.”

One hundred…? Françoise felt her jaw tighten at the outrageous price but they both knew he held all the cards.

“And you sleep below deck.”

“One hundred more and we get the Captain’s cabin.” She could see his eyes widen at the offer. Greed was a strong motivator. Slowly a smile crossed his craggy features.

“I suppose it would not hurt me to sleep with the crew for one voyage.”

“Very well, it is a deal. Let us shake on it, Captain. I would hate to think that the deal would be changed without my knowledge.” She moved towards him when he offered no such courtesy. Distastefully she grabbed his hand firmly, shaking it forcefully. “The deal is sealed, Captain. When do we sail?”

“Tomorrow morning with the tide. We will sail to Ouidah first before continuing to St. Domingue. I have a package or two to pick up there before we continue.” He turned his back, walking away chuckling at his own joke. As Françoise left the vessel she made a mental note to shop for more weapons. She felt was going to need them.

* * *

Now that the most immediate business had been taken care of, Françoise set off to find the most important one. She drew out the piece of paper Gérard had given her and read the name. Sébastien Baptiste. The man who held Gérard’s trust and her future in his hands. Quickly she negotiated the narrow cobblestone streets avoiding the groups of armed men where she could. A skirmish was brewing even she could see that. She only hoped that the combatants kept away from one another until they had left on the tide.

The small livery finally came into view where a brawny middle-aged man was working industriously over his anvil with a large hammer. When it was safe to do so, Françoise crossed the final few feet from across the street, approaching the man carefully and silently. “Monsieur…,” she shouted, trying to raise her voice over the din of his work.

The palest blue eyes she had ever seen slowly slid over her, as if trying to decide whether she was friend or foe. “Yes?”

“Gérard sent me…”

“Gérard?” He looked up and down the street, motioning the tall woman to follow him. “You know Gérard?” Françoise handed over the letter she had been jealously guarding all the way from Anjou.

“Did…” Françoise was nearly afraid to ask for fear of hearing of its demise. And yet Dale was still here. She did not understand how the mirror worked but wouldn’t the magic die if the mirror was broken?

“Oui, monsieur…” Sébastien looked at the paper in the semi-darkness, moving closer to the open door to read the note. “Philippe Théroux, your property is safe. It arrived yesterday.”

“Oh, monsieur, I am indebted to you. Merci beaucoup.” Françoise hadn’t realized that she had been holding her breath until the tightness in her chest told her to breathe.

“No need. Gérard asked for a favor, which I gladly give. He is a good man.”

“Indeed he is, monsieur, indeed he is.”

“What do you wish me to do now?”

“There is a ship in the harbor, ‘Le Renard’, leaving on the tide in the morning. Can you arrange delivery first thing?”

“You do not want me to deliver it today?”

“Non, monsieur. I have a feeling the Captain cannot be trusted. It would be better for me to be there to receive it.”

“As you wish, monsieur.”

“I thank you, Sébastien. In these hard times it is hard to find someone to trust.”

“Anything for Gérard, Philippe. For him to ask such a favor he must hold you in high regard.” Françoise smiled. If only the blacksmith knew.

“I also need to find some weapons. I fear this journey is not going to be a smooth one.” Sébastien disappeared for a minute returning with two daggers and a heavier sword than her rapier. She studied the workmanship. While not finely crafted, they were sturdy, well made and quite serviceable. “Did you make these?”

“It is not common knowledge.”

“Are you prepared to sell them?”

“They are a gift… to Gérard’s friend.”

“Non, I cannot accept these…”

“Philippe, I offer them freely. It sounds like you will be more in need of them than I will.”

“I do not… it is too… thank you, Sébastien. That is most generous of you.” Françoise was touched by the man’s generosity, handing over goods to a person he did not know all because of the recommendation of a friend. “I am in need of a pistol.”

“Say no more. Two streets that way…” A pudgy finger pointed up the gentle incline. “Look for the shop front of Marcel Jugnon.”

“Monsieur, Gérard has chosen his friends wisely.” The words drew a grin from the blacksmith. “Here…” She handed over some coin to him. Not gold but livres, but valuable just the same.

“There is no need, Philippe.”

“Take it. I am sure you can use it.” She saw him hesitate as his hand hovered over hers. “For taking such good care of my property, Sébastien,” she murmured, a small smile touching her lips. Those crystal blue eyes touched hers and then dropped to the coins in her hand. Before he could change his mind she flipped his hand over and poured the coins onto his palm, closing the hand into a fist. “Until tomorrow then.”

He looked up at her, a rare smile touching his leather face. “Tomorrow.” She left the workshop without another word, her footsteps a little lighter. They had passage and the mirror was safe.

* * *

Trying to make a pair of underpants was turning out to be quite an undertaking. No scissors to cut the material with, and now she would give her life savings for a sewing machine. Dale had momentarily considered just going without them but it was more than a matter of clothing. It was a matter of coping in a world without mechanical aids.

She had grown accustomed to the unusual sounds emanating from the other rooms, only because it never stopped. Day and night, all the time. Dale chuckled. She was living in a bordello. Her mother would have a hissy fit. A major hissy fit. Sucking her thumb after another needle prick in a long line of needle pricks, her hearing picked up a new sound. The sewing was put aside before she stood and went to the door, gently opening it a crack to see what was going on.

“But… but… madame…”

“Non.”

A young girl, maybe seventeen years old, was pleading with Lucette. It was desperate and emotional and the other woman was vainly trying to discourage whatever the young woman wanted.

Dale opened the door further and poked her head out into the hallway. The action stopped the conversation. Lucette looked over her shoulder and motioned for Dale to return to her room. But the young woman was never one to do as she was told. All she would have to do was ask Françoise for an answer to that. Her heart leapt into her throat as the front door opened, sending her scurrying for the relative safety of their room.

* * *

Françoise felt the tension release in her neck once she walked back through the bordello front door. Things were getting very agitated in the streets. There had been some shoving and swearing amongst small groups of armed men, but so far the peace was still intact. As the tall woman entered she encountered a heated discussion between Lucette and a young girl.

“Madame, I have no where else to turn. Pleeaassee….”

“Errr… “

“Rosalie.”

“Rosalie, this is no life for you. Do you not understand that?”

“But… but… madame…”

“Non.”

A flash of movement caught Françoise’s eye as she saw Dale’s head slip back into their room. “What is going on?”

“Monsieur please, this is a conversation between Madame Lucette and myself.”

“Girl, this is not a customer. He lives here.” Lucette spotted two plump chickens dangling from Françoise’s large hand.

“This is for dinner.” Françoise handed over the poultry, smiling at the look of gratitude in those thankful eyes. “I hope you have someone to cook these. You know cooking is not a skill of mine.”

“I am sure that is so, little one.” She raised her voice to be heard out the back. “Honorine, I have something for you!” A small middle aged woman trotted out from the back of the establishment, wiping her hands on a ragged cloth. “Our friend here has donated these to the pot. Treat them well.” Almost reverently she carried the feathered fowl back towards the kitchen, mumbling to herself about how to cook them.

“She is a little cracked but she can make anything edible.” Lucette smiled at the antics of their resident cook, a victim of the harsh times they had been living under. She looked at the waif standing in front of her. Her house was becoming as much a haven for women as it was a bordello. Sighing, she looked at Françoise for help.

The aristocrat looked down into pleading eyes. “Oh… non, non, non, non… Stop looking at me that way, tantine.”

“I have no more room… Philippe. She does not deserve a life here and you know it.”

Rosalie didn’t like being ignored. “I am not going with him. I am trying to get away from one man. Why would I go to another?”

“And yet you want to work in a bordello!” Françoise snapped. “You cannot pick and choose as you like girl. Especially here. Maybe it would be better if you return home to your husband.”

“Husband? Oh no, no, no. He… he is evil. My parents have sold me to marry him but I will never be his bride.”

That struck a chord within her. Damn. This was her tale all over again. Françoise looked deep into the child’s hazel eyes, trying to ascertain the truth within them. “Awwwww….” She walked away in disgust. Why did everyone think she could solve their problems?

* * *

Dale went back to her sewing awaiting Françoise’s arrival. Moments later her partner stepped through the door throwing a couple of parcels into the basket sitting on the floor. “And what are you doing?”

“Sewing, like you asked me to.” Dale tried to put on her best innocent face.

“Then why were you looking out the room?”

“Asking Lucette for help?”

The tall French woman pursed her lips at the seated woman batting her eyelashes at her. “I doubt that, chérie. And stop trying to distract me. I know you were being curious. That could get you killed, you know.”

“It didn’t stop you though.” Dale knew she had won when her lover’s lips slowly parted in a smile. “What did you find out?”

“We leave in the morning… with the mirror.” She wasn’t sure how to tell Dale that it was a slave ship, deciding it was better to get her out to sea first before revealing it.

“Really? And where are we heading?”

“St. Domingue.”

“Where on earth is that?”

“It is a French colony over the sea. Somewhere near America, I believe. I am not sure.”

“Home?”

“Not quite, chérie, but close enough. From there we will seek passage the rest of the way.”

“I knew you could do it…” Dale threw her arms around her lover, smothering the porcelain skin in kisses. “I love you…” she murmured.

“Moi aussi, ma chérie.” Françoise drew Dale’s lips towards her own, bathing herself in the loving glow of her partner’s affection. The kiss was warm, amorous and hinting of pleasure to come. “Now, mon cœur, I have things to do before we sail.” The brunette tried to pull away but was held firm by a determined young woman. “Chérie, please. There is not much time…”

“There is always time, my love.”

“Not this time. We sail first thing in the morning and there are still some things I must try to find.”

“I don’t need anything but you.”

“And I you, Dale, but love alone will not sustain our hunger or our safety.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dale backed away, letting her eyes slide over the French woman’s obvious assets. “I think you could satisfy my hunger.”

Mon Dieu…. “Grrrrr……” Francoise turned on her heels and left the room while she could. “You are going to kill me,” she muttered.

“I’ll try, my sweet,” came the melodious voice from behind her. “Maybe I’ll finish that bedtime story tonight.”

* * *

A few muttered expletives greeted Lucette in the hallway. “Is there a problem, ma chérie?”

“My partner was trying to convince me to stay, tantine.”

“Then why are you fighting it?”

“Because we sail in the morning.”

“So?”

“It is a slave ship, tantine.”

“Oh…. Is that wise?” Concern etched that older woman’s face. “What is to stop them robbing and killing you while at sea?”

“This…” The rapier dangling at the French woman’s side was grasped intensely. “I will not give up without a fight.”

“Is there no other course?”

“The harbor is empty, tantine. There will be no ships for another four to five days.”

“You can always hide here… Philippe.” The madam stumbled on the name.

“Trouble is coming, tantine. We cannot stay… and neither should you.”

“Leave? I do not think so.”

“The streets are full of men, angry, drunken men, tantine, and they are all intent on looking for a fight. I do not want you caught in the middle of it.”

“And where am I supposed to go, eh? I have lived here most of my life. These girls are in the same predicament. This is all we have.”

“But…”

“Non. If you have to go, then fine. Do what you have to do. But do not ask me to leave.”

“You are the most stubborn…” Francoise was frustrated. Why couldn’t they see that it was getting dangerous here? She could not force them to go but she wished she could do something.

“Ma chérie. I think that finger you are pointing is facing the wrong direction.” With that final comment, she turned her back and walked away, chuckling at the answering growl from Françoise. Maybe the vendors in the street won’t give her as much trouble as this old woman.

* * *

The sun was valiantly trying to shine through the smattering of dark cloud. Françoise looked one way then the other, trying to decide which way to go. The pistol was her first priority so she walked in the direction of the livery, waving at Sébastien as she passed and continued up the hill. As he had directed, she found Monsieur Jugnon’s shop two streets away.

The bell above the door announced her arrival and a slim man with wire rimmed glasses emerged from the back. “Monsieur? How may I help you?”

“I am in need of a pistol.”

“But…”

“Sébastien Baptiste directed me to you.”

“Our city does not want troublemakers, monsieur.”

“I am leaving in the morning aboard the ship moored in the harbor.”

“Oh… un moment.” He disappeared through the curtain, leaving Françoise alone to look around the shop. There was not a weapon in sight. Instead trunks, chests and boxes of varying sizes and quality were on display, eager for purchase for the long sea voyages many had taken in the past and would take in the future.

A plain, rough hewn but sturdy chest caught her eye. Their supplies were mounting and needed a home. Her mind returned to the avaricious look in the Captain’s eye, his mind as easily read as his face. This particular chest took her fancy because of the large lock that hung from the clasp.

“Monsieur…” The voice cut through her thoughts as the vendor returned with two identical pistols. “Twenty livres each.”

“Twenty?”

“I will include a good supply of ammunition for free, monsieur.” Despite his reluctance to sell weapons, his eyes told a different story. He was a carpenter who didn’t sell weapons… at least not publicly.

“Fine.” Françoise schooled her expression as the man smiled, seeing easily through his veiled concern about violence. “I am also interested in that chest.” She nodded her head in the direction of the plain chest, unaware that his eyes had landed on the ornate piece sitting next to it.

“Fifty livres.”

“Fifty!!?! For that?”

“It took many hours to make, monsieur. Surely, you do not begrudge me for the craftsmanship put into its making.”

“It is just a box.” Craftsmanship? Obviously what Françoise considered fine craft work was not the same as what this man thought.

“But the carvings alone took me a number of days.”

“Carving? Oh, non, non, non. The one next to it. The one with the lock.”

“Oh…” His forlorn face nearly made her laugh. His precious livres were flying out the window. “Fifteen livres, monsieur, but as you can see it is very plain.”

“That is all I need, monsieur. Nothing more.” No, anything more ornate would only draw the Captain’s attention. “I will give you twenty if you can deliver it for me.”

“Twenty? Of course.” His eyes gleamed with greed. “And where would you like it delivered?” He only hoped the young man didn’t say Paris or Bordeaux.

“Lucette’s… on the waterfront.”

“Luc…??!?” The artisan looked Françoise up and down with a new eye.

“Lucette is family, monsieur. Be careful what you say.” Françoise was starting to feel sorry for the brothel madam. They all scorned her in public but behind closed doors many of them had turned to her establishment for comfort. Hypocrites. “I would like that lock reinforced, monsieur, and two keys please.”

“As you wish monsieur. It will be delivered later today, along with the pistols.”

Françoise nodded then watched the man’s face light up as coin after coin hit his palm. The country was in turmoil and still money was eagerly sought after, probably even more so now.

“I have a… dilemma. I wish to block a door without using a lock and key. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Hmmmm….. “ He thought for a moment, his index finger resting on his lips and tapping out a rhythm. “Stop a door opening…” Without realizing it he turned his back and walked out the back, disappearing for several minutes before returning with several chunks of wood in his hands. The solid clunk of the wood hitting the table drew Françoise’s attention away from the trunks.

The shop keeper sorted through the off-cuts finding one he thought suitable for the job. “Maybeee….” He slipped the wedge in between the door and the floor, effectively blocking it.

“Simple but effective. Very good… monsieur you are a genius.” Now she could get some sleep on the voyage and keep the human hounds at bay.

* * *

It had been a long, long day. Françoise sat at the dinner table quietly, allowing the brisk conversation to flow around her. She had no energy to participate and Dale just gave up trying to glean the thread of conversation from her. The venture had been enlightening, drawing out a skill she didn’t know she possessed.

“And where are you from, monsieur?” Edith was the smallest girl in the establishment, her brown curls bouncing merrily. Françoise had seen her earlier escorting a bull of a man into one of the front rooms and wondered how on earth she survived such an encounter.

“Anjou.”

“Are you staying in Nantes for long?” Sabine’s dark looks made her one of the busiest girls in the bordello.

“Just passing through. We’re sailing on the tide tomorrow.”

“Oooh, travel. I always wanted to travel.” Violette had listened to all the sailor stories and harbored a desire to sail. She had been one of Lucette’s longer serving girls and she had been slavishly saving her coin to do so. “Maybe England or Portugal… or maybe Italy.” She had yet to make up her mind where she wanted to end up.

Dale watched the conversation and could see her lover faltering. “How about we call it a night?”

The murmur was barely registered by the French woman. “Call it… a night?”

“Let’s go to bed, my love.”

“Chérie, I do not think…”

“To sleep, Philippe. You are out on your feet.” The tall aristocrat did not argue, instead pushing herself back from the table slowly.

“Tantine, I am sorry. I am tired and…”

“No need, little one. I was wondering how long it would take you to retire.” The older woman smiled benevolently. “Your eyes were half closed.”

“Ahh.” It just took too much effort to reply. “Good night.”

“Good night.” The chorus echoed along the walls as the duo walked down the corridor to their room. The familiar muffled cries of ecstasy continued night and day and never abated. It seemed Lucette did a brisk business.

“I’m just tired listening to all of that…” Dale muttered. “All that sex would become tiresome, don’t you think?”

“Oui, chérie, very tiresome…”

“Oh… I’m sorry…”

“Do not be. It was my choice, not yours.”

“Do you…” Dale was afraid to ask. “Do you miss it? I mean, they say variety is the spice of life.” She was pulled up short by her companion.

“I have never… never… regretted my decision, mon amour. I love you with all my heart.”

Dale could feel her eyes welling up. “But… I know so little. Can you…”

“Do you not realize yet that all that does not matter? I have not lost any of the pleasure just because you are inexperienced. Matters of the heart and mind are more eternal than fleeting pleasure, my love. I have never been happier.”

“Really?” A look of wonder crossed those impish features.

“Oui, really. I would move heaven and earth for you, chérie. You are the only one who ever loved me for who I am. Me… Françoise. I thank God every night for sending you to me.”

Dale was pleased to know that she wasn’t the only one thanking God. Gently she guided her lover through the door to their bed, pushing the exhausted woman to the mattress. “Come on, sleep time for tired aristocrats.”

“But… no… aristocrat.” Françoise could barely form the words as sleep overtook her, unaware that her clothes had been loosened before Dale joined her. Tomorrow was another day.

* * *

Françoise slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping partner. She had wanted to see Lucette alone before they left and now was as good a time as any, if not better. It was a change of shift, if she could call it that, when husbands went home to their wives and husbands came in on their way to work.

“Tantine,” she called quietly, the door to their bedroom clicking closed behind her. “One moment of your time.”

“Of course, little one. Just give me a moment to show my cust… err this gentlemen into room two.” The older woman gave her a wink. Dirty old man… Seconds later Lucette emerged looking worn out. She steered the tall aristocrat into her own room.

“You should get some rest, tantine.”

“I did, child, but somehow it never seems enough.”

“Maybe you should turn to one of your girls for help.”

“Non, they are too busy on their… backs. Heh…”

A thought popped into Françoise’s head and it was a ridiculously simple solution. “How about that girl? You know, from yesterday? What was her name?”

“Rosalie.”

“Ah oui. Rosalie. Train her as your assistant. You will get some rest and it will keep her off the streets and out of beds.” Françoise studied Lucette. “You look tired, tantine. You know… you are not getting any younger.”

“Are you ma mère now little one?”

“Someone has to…” Françoise let her eyes speak to the older woman, telling her without words her feelings. “I… I… was fearful of coming here, Lucette. So much pain. But you know that only too well. I am sorry for not coming sooner. I had never forgotten here, please understand that, and it was because of it that I could not return.”

A firm hand grabbed her arm. “There is no need for explanations, Françoise. I do understand. Things have been busy here anyway, even more so since the unrest. All this heightened anxiety and fear has driven the men to my door. I can barely keep up with the demand.”

“Unrest? Or is it war? Whatever it is always stirs up the emotions and the libido, tantine. You are performing a valuable service.”

“Valuable service?” The woman laughed loudly. “Valuable service… I have never been called that before.”

“The reason I wanted to see you before I go is to give you this…” She handed over a sack, watching the woman’s eyes widen at the sound of clinking of coin as she did so.

“Oh non… keep that. You will need it in the New World.”

“Tantine, we are comfortable. Do not worry about that.”

“But business is good, mon petite cœur…”

“Then keep it for when you all grow old.” She saw the woman hesitate. “Please, tantine. For me. Take it.” Gnarled hands flexed as Lucette held onto the sack, her fingers barely able to cup the money bag.

Dark gray eyes traveled from the youthful face she had been watching down the body to the floor. Her vision hesitated on the bulge in the pants before continuing. “Well then, I have something for you, Françoise.”

“Moi?”

“Oui, toi.” She chuckled. Such innocence in a well experienced body. Lucette went to an aged cabinet in the corner, extracting something wrapped in cotton. “You are barely a threat with that…” She handed over the parcel.

“With what, tantine?”

“Just look…”

Françoise unwrapped the material. “Oh…” She looked pointedly down to her crotch. It looked like she was going to get her fantasy after all. Suddenly, she was worried where it had been before.

“Never fear, Françoise, it has never been used.”

“How… how did you know I was thinking that?”

“Ah, chérie, your nose crinkles up right there…” Lucette brought up a finger to touch the bridge of the taller woman’s nose. “On a ship full of men we cannot have you looking less than impressive now can we?”

“I suppose not, tantine. But… you giving it to me is… is… strange.”

“Oh, tish tosh. I am sure your little Dale will not object either.” With that final word she gave the young woman a wink, ushering her out the door. “Honorine is serving breakfast now if you hurry.” She was not ready for the crying that would come.

* * *

Dale woke to another empty bed. Getting up at daybreak was for the birds. She lay on her stomach, her eyes fixated on the trunk that now occupied their room. Her lover had been busy yesterday, that she knew, but the appearance of the casket lent testament to how much the woman had actually accomplished.

“Did I wake you?” Dale’s eyes swiveled to the opening door and the owner of the voice.

“No…” she mumbled into the sheet, sleep still lacing the word.

“It is time to rise, chérie. The ship will sail soon and we must not miss it.”

“I know, I know.” But the energy involved just seemed like too much trouble. All she wanted to do was to drift back to sleep wrapped in Françoise’s loving arms. A swat on the backside made her jump. “Hey! I was getting up.”

“Uh huh.” Françoise’s eyebrow rose, telling the young woman what she thought of that statement. She moved away and propped herself near the door.

“Did you have to buy so much stuff?”

“Stuff?”

“In the trunk. Are we going to need all that?” Dale rolled onto her back, stretching like a feline and sending her partner’s pulse racing.

“Need? Errr…” Françoise’s mind was mush. She was still exhausted from the shopping yesterday and now Dale was teasing her mercilessly. “Please do not do that. Breakfast is waiting…”

“Do what?” Green eyes looked over at the woman leaning negligently against the wall. While she looked relaxed, the gleam in her eye told a different story. “Oh…” She smiled wickedly. “Is that so bad?”

“It is when we are in a hurry. Come on, wench. Move.”

“But we may not have another chance until we reach land again.” Dale’s voice had dropped to a seductive whisper.

“I know, ma chérie, believe me I know, but now is not the time.”

“Oh, but I think it is…” The blanket was slowly pushed aside to reveal pale skin to her gaze.

Françoise could feel her upper lip getting moist. When a beckoning finger asked she couldn’t help herself. “I hope I have some palets bretons left…”

“Palets… what?”

“Those…ummm, cakes, because there will be no meal for us…”

It still took some moments to get undressed but Françoise knew that in time she would find a shortcut or two in that department. She could feel the heat of the stare as it slid down her body, resting on the point where her pants hung open. Her eyes danced merrily as Dale’s gaze reached her face, blushing lightly at being caught so openly ogling her.

Françoise wasted no time climbing into bed, knowing very well that time was short and Dale was more than ready for whatever she had in mind. Her lips sought the well-known territory and found it waiting for her, stimulating her senses easily to seek the pleasure she had always found there.

While Dale didn’t mind the intense attention, Françoise’s urgency was blinding her senses. “What’s the hurry?”

“We have a boat to catch, chérie.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Once her lover’s lips touched her all thought left her.

Françoise chuckled at the blonde’s confusion. It was extremely gratifying to have that effect on her. “Oui, one of us has to remember, little one.” Her fingers gently massaged the soft skin and defined muscle, as if preparing the way for her assault.

“I have an idea…,” Dale was a little reticent about taking control.

“Of course…” Françoise silently cheered as Dale took the initiative. Her inexperienced partner had come a long way in such a short time and she applauded the woman’s courage to take such as step. She smiled as Dale rolled her over onto her back and descended, turning her own body at the last second so that she was facing away.

Françoise kept silent as Dale probed her with her tongue, knowing what her lover wanted in return. She would not spoil the surprise by informing Dale that she knew exactly what she was doing. This was her ‘idea’, as she called it, and it would remain that way. “Mon Dieu!”

Dale smiled. Her advances had been a success. As she laved the moist skin she almost jumped when she felt Françoise’s tongue for the first time. Time and again she stopped as her French woman teased her, making her forget to breathe. Now she could see what the attraction was to this particular position and she concentrated all her efforts on pushing her partner to find that elusive plateau.

The temperature in the room rose steadily as breathing became heated and bodies became moist. For a moment out of time all was forgotten. Their flight, their danger and the fall of a dynasty held no meaning, only the fulfillment of their desire. They worked in perfect harmony. One swipe of a tongue was reciprocated, drawing a response from the initiator.

Dale didn’t know how to describe what she felt. It was as if she was pleasuring herself, her actions leading to an identical sensation on herself. She liked it, not only because it felt good but because she knew Françoise was feeling the same.

The sensual haze she was in buffered the sudden change, not aware that a finger had been substituted until she felt….it. Her muscles clenched in response to the wriggling digit, but for only a moment until she relaxed and allowed its entry. When a thumb joined in she couldn’t hold back the moan that had been building in her.

“Ahh, ma chérie… so…” Françoise’s words died in her mouth when Dale copied her, vigorously stimulating her and setting her blood afire. She could barely keep her senses from flying apart as her climax approached suddenly, sending her body into spasms of delight.

Dale felt the woman tense, her hand slowly being coated in moisture. It was deeply satisfying that she had outlasted her more experienced partner… but only just. As soon as that thought had been formed she body threw itself off the familiar cliff and broke into a million pieces on the rocks below. It was a shattering experience, and certainly a very nice way to wake up in the morning.

As much as the French woman wanted to while away the hours in bed she knew it wasn’t possible. There was precious little time to reach ‘Le Renard’ before it sailed. “Now, we must move.” She stood, trying to stop her legs from shaking. Her hand descended on the naked backside next to her. “Now, Dale!” she admonished her lover.

“I blew it, huh?”

“Not now Dale… Get your mind off such things.”

“No, I mean… never mind.” Her twentieth century colloquialisms were going to be the death of her. Dale swung her legs out of the pallet and stood, swaying slightly as she sought her equilibrium. “I hate this crack of dawn shit…,” she muttered.

“My my, mon cœur, such language.” That was one word Françoise had figured out fairly quickly. She poured a liberal amount of water into the ceramic bowl. “Now quickly wash up because we have to leave now.”

* * *

Françoise stood at the dock watching the two young men struggling with the full trunk. As she had predicted the farewell was awash with tears, more on Lucette’s part than her own. She had already shed all the tears she had years ago. Now there was very little left.

Beads of sweat dotted the young faces straining under the weight. “Up the gangway to the Captain’s cabin. Thank you.” She patted them on the shoulder as they passed, feeling a certain amount of sympathy and agony as the weight of the box cut deep into their hands. Her eyes slipped to the Captain, noting the gleam in his eye. At least it was heavy enough to slow him down stealing it.

Dale stood patiently by, filled with a feeling trepidation about the up-coming voyage. On land they had a certain amount of control over where they went, but out at sea they were at the mercy of the crew. She tugged on her lover’s sleeve, pointing to a large man driving a wagon along the waterfront.

“The mirror…” Françoise murmured, trying not to let her voice carry. “That is Sébastien. It seems he is a good friend of Gérard.”

Dale just nodded, accepting that those few words told the complete story. The wagon changed direction, slowly moving along the pier towards them. The horse’s head hung down, as if finding the load too heavy, its legs moving in a shuffling gait.

Françoise paid the two lads the agreed amount, plus a little bit more for their trouble. The burly blacksmith nodded as the boys went by, his arms bulging as they took the weight of the mirror as he lifted.

“Ah, monsieur…” Françoise greeted him jovially. He gave her a wry look. “Sébastien.” His lips gave way to a smile. “If you would not mind, could you put it in the Captain’s cabin for me?”

“Of course.” His deep voice was rich and full and seemed to suit his build. Françoise couldn’t help but like him. He walked slowly but steadily up the gangplank, the crew parting the way like the Red Sea at his approach.

“Merci, Sébastien.” For the Captain’s benefit she added, “And could you remove the glass from the frame?” But she could see the look of confusion on Sébastien’s face. “It was a wedding gift from my parents. I am taking it home. The glass can easily be replaced and I do not want the frame to be damaged.”

“What shall I do with it?”

“Get rid of it.” Françoise stared him straight in the eye, trying to impart everything she was not saying. “The gift is not very valuable but it has great sentimental value.” So it is not worth anything to you… you bastard. Would the Captain accept the explanation and leave it alone? The tall French woman followed the blacksmith on board, guiding her wife up the gangplank. “Are we ready to sail, Captain?”

“As soon as you have completed your business… monsieur.” But he was impatient. Françoise could hear it in the words. He didn’t like being at the beck and call of someone else, despite working for whoever owned ‘Le Renard’. He was a man who set his own times and his own rules.

Ten minutes later Sébastien emerged. “All done, Philippe.”

“Thank you, mon ami.” A noise from the street drew everyone to the railing. Shouts and clanging of metal could be heard but nothing could be seen.

Françoise made a move to run down the gangplank but a gentle hand stopped her. “Where do you think you are going?”

“It is what I feared.”

“Feared?”

“Oui… feared.”

“Cast off now!” While the Captain barked out his order, Françoise watched as a group of women exited Lucette’s, bundles clutched in their hands.

“Stay!”

“This is my ship, monsieur! I give the orders here.”

“Wait!” Her eyes were riveted on the one person she knew to be Lucette. “Lucette!” she bellowed, hoping that her voice would carry the distance. “Over here!” She was pleased to see the woman’s head turn her way. “This way!”

“Get us out of here… now!” The crew was slow to respond, not sure whether to obey or not.

Before the swarthy man had a moment to think, a rapier point was at his throat. “You are not going anywhere, Captain.”

“Do you know…?”

“Oh yes, I know. I know that you are not going anywhere without those women, Captain.”

“You paid berth for two, not for… for… more.”

“And you would willingly allow them to die in a fight that is not theirs? Innocent women… Captain?” She spat out the last word, feeling that he didn’t deserve the title.

“Innocent? They are just whores from that bordello!”

“But they are my responsibility.” Françoise paused for effect. “We will wait.” The point of the blade touched his skin and pricked it. The brunette smiled with satisfaction as a bead of blood accumulated there. She looked over her shoulder at the women, seeing them scurrying along the pier. “Hurry, Lucette!” At that moment, the noise erupted, a cacophony of sound from loud voices, swords clashing and pistols being fired. The two groups of men, who had approached the waterfront from two different streets, merged. Anger and frustration flowed over the fight like molasses, holding the crowd in a constant state of hostility. While the women had a good lead on the mêlée, someone had spotted the fleeing women and fired his musket. One woman fell and the rest of the group stopped to help.

“Oh… non, non, non, non.” Françoise grabbed Dale’s arm and pulled her towards the Captain. “Take this…,” shoving the rapier handle into her hand.

“But…” Before she could finish her sentence Françoise was gone, already flying down the gangplank at breakneck speed and onto the pier, her long legs eating up the precious distance between the ship and the women.

The Captain observed the young woman now holding the sword, weighing his chances of wrestling it off her.

“One move, Captain, and I will tear off your arm.” Determination and menace laced the blacksmith’s words. He had observed the man edging towards Philippe’s wife.

“Stay out of this, blacksmith,” the swarthy man replied. “You should not be here. Leave.”

“Non.” Dale wasn’t sure what had transpired but could see there was a standoff between the two men. She jabbed the point into the Captain’s expansive waist, returning the end to his throat. “Sebastian.” Her American accent changed the pronunciation but she made herself understood, the older man looking in her direction. She smiled in friendship and found the sentiment reciprocated.

“Where is your First Mate?”

“I will not help you.” The Captain’s chin remained firm, just begging for the brawny man to hit him.

“Is the First Mate here?” He directed his question to the crew.

“Oui, that would be me.”

“Sir…”

“Rumkey.”

“Monsieur Rumkey, are you going to stand by while women are slaughtered needlessly?”

“Are you not going to help?” Rumkey was curious as to why the blacksmith did not go himself.

“If I leave, who will protect madame here? I am not as fit as some of your crew. Please… monsieur… they are in need of your help.”

The small, wiry man could not ignore the plea. He had secretly condemned the Captain for his non-action but he was not in a position to argue. Under the threat of the much larger man he could answer the call. Rumkey motioned to two of the younger men and they set off down the gangplank at a fast pace, quickly reaching the struggling group.

“Merci, Rumkey.” As much as the First Mate wanted to answer he just nodded, pleased that he was able to help after all. Damn the Captain…

* * *

Françoise reached the distressed women. “Tantine… quickly. There is not much time.”

“But... but…” The older woman’s eyes looked to the fallen woman.

Françoise looked to see the life leave the vacant eyes. “We cannot help her now. Come.” She moved to the back of the group trying to physically move them towards the ship. Progress was slow and she could hear the approach of angry men behind her. “Now, tantine!” She started to push, fear lending strength to her encouragement for them to move.

“You there! Stop!” Pistol fire broke through the noise. Françoise felt the brush of a lead ball as it whizzed past her head. She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the two men running towards her.

Françoise shoved the group frantically. “Go! Do not look back! Just go!” She turned to face the two men, reaching for a sword that was no longer in her possession.

Her pursuers slowed to a walk, sly smiles crossing their faces. “You do not need to run, monsieur.”

“I think I do, since you seem to be shooting at total strangers.”

“Only those who run.”

“We run because you are shooting at us, monsieur.”

“Only our enemies run, monsieur.” His pistol rose to aim at her chest.

“Enemies? We are all Frenchmen, monsieur. We get rid of the aristocracy and now we turn on one another?” Françoise saw the hesitation in their eyes. “Are you all so eager to die? And for what? A little pushing and shoving and now it is war?”

“It is not war, monsieur. It is…” He thought long and hard. “…a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?” Françoise’s voice rose in anger, despite the pistol leveled at her. “Look…” She pointed to the waterfront at the fighting there. “Go on… look.” Both men turned. “That is a disagreement?” She continued her tirade. “Is this a disagreement?” Françoise pointed to the dead woman lying nearby. “This is not a disagreement, this is madness.”

* * *

The two crewmen intercepted Lucette and her girls on the dock and ushered them up the gangplank to safety. Like the others, they stood at the railing to watch the confrontation unfold.

* * *

“I do not want any part of this, messieurs.” Françoise turned away and walked slowly towards the vessel, praying that she was not going to get shot in the back for her trouble. She kept her gait slow and smooth, walking confidently to the gangplank and up the board to the ship. Dale flung herself into the French woman’s arms and was only grabbed by Françoise’s instincts alone.

Françoise’s insides were shaking. A lot of back slapping and hand shaking nearly sent her sprawling to the deck, but Dale’s arms had a tight hold on her and kept her upright. As the ship moved away from the dock, Françoise looked back at the pier to see the two men standing there, stock still. Her eyes met theirs for a moment before they turned and walked back towards the fight raging onshore.

Françoise could feel the older woman next to her and knew what she was looking at. “I am sorry for your loss, tantine.”

“Florette had been with me for many years, ma chérie.”

“I remember her.”

“And she remembered you. She will be missed.” Lucette looked at her establishment, already in disarray from the scuffle. “Why?”

“Why? Who knows? With the aristocrats gone maybe their anger needed to be vented.” Françoise turned away from the carnage. “For now it is a confrontation here and there. Let us hope it does not escalate to war.” She sighed before lowering her eyes to Lucette. “I will not be coming back.” But the older woman did not reply.

* * *

Dale stood apart from her partner, allowing her the time to say goodbye to her homeland. She studied the strong profile of the one she had chosen and felt a clutching at her heart. What was she thinking? She herself had not been given time to mourn her loss, instead a leap through the mirror ended her life in the future. But Françoise now had the chance to come to terms with what had been and consciously move forward. A gentle breeze ruffled the French woman’s hair as a knowing smile crossed her lips, bringing an answering smile from Dale.

“Madame…” The deep voice of the blacksmith interrupted her thoughts.

“Dale, monsieur.” She would have to see Françoise about more French lessons.

“Et moi Sébastien.”

“I know.”

He continued the conversation but Dale had to raise her hand. “Non… no… errr… speak… français. Ummm….” She thought hard. “Je ne parle pas français.” Was that right?

“She does not speak French, Sébastien.”

“Oh… sorry.”

“Why? It is not her fault.” Françoise had stepped up behind her wife, placing her hands on the smaller woman’s shoulders. “If you become her friend you will not be disappointed.” If the man only knew that Dale’s intervention in her life had saved them all. “I am sorry that I have taken you away from your home.”

“It could not be helped, Philippe. It just… happened.”

“It certainly did but…”

“Non, Philippe. Do not start thinking about what might have been. I am here and I am alive. I may or may not have survived that battle onshore. It is all in the past now. We move on.”

“How very philosophical of you… my friend.” She smiled as she muttered the last two words.

“Oui… friend.” He held out his large callused hand and shook hers, her long elegant fingers disappearing into the large slab of meat that was his fist.

“How very cosy.”

Françoise glanced over the blacksmith’s shoulder at the Captain with a look of disdain. “How may I help you, Captain?”

“Help? You nearly got us all killed! Rumkey! Place Monsieur Théroux under arrest and throw him in the brig.”

“Brig, Cap’n? Do you think that is necessary?”

“Are you questioning me, Rumkey?”

“No Cap’n.”

“Then lock him up.”

“But Cap’n, we don’t have the extra men to take care of a prisoner.”

“I don’t care if he rots in Hell!” The vision of livres flying away crossed his mind’s eye. “Then… then… tie him up. I do not care. Get him out of my sight.” He looked around the crowded deck. “And get rid of the others…” He turned away in disgust. “Trouble…,” he muttered but his eyes momentarily lecherously skimmed over Dale, leaving the poor woman feeling naked and unclean.

“Monsieur, please follow me. I would suggest you stay out of the Captain’s way until he calms down.”

“Monsieur… errr….”

“Rumkey, monsieur.”

“Rumkey. That is an unusual name.”

“My real name is René but no one uses it. Earlier in my life I earned the reputation of not partaking alcohol, so I was given the key to the crew’s rum supplies.”

“Ahhh, Rumkey. Very good.” Françoise watched the small wiry man walking in front of her. So, here was the First Mate and a silent supporter to her cause. She estimated he was middle aged and probably a veteran sailor. The position of First Mate was a trusted one given to a sailor of great trust and experience. He was not one to be swayed by idle chatter or wild disclaimers. She had a feeling that this man still had an important part to play in this voyage. As to what that was would reveal itself all in good time.

* * *

Chapter 4

“The Cap’n’s cabin, monsieur.”

“Not bad.” Dale surveyed the room and was pleased with it. The width of the vessel and half as deep in size, it was a spacious room. A bunk was recessed into the near wall, which added a small hallway when the door was open. In the center of the room sat the Captain’s desk. Ornate and showy, much like the Captain himself, it was covered with charts, an open bottle and a plate of leftover food. Crossing the width of the room at the stern was a number of lead glass windows, presently open to allow a cool sea breeze. Finally, sitting in the far corner under one of the windows stood their precious mirror, held upright by their trunk.

“Ah… not so quick, ma chérie. You forget our extra passengers…”

“Extra…?”

“Monsieur, the women have nowhere to stay…”

“Bring them, and the smith, here, Rumkey. We will make some sort of arrangement. May I have a few minutes with my wife first?”

“As you wish, monsieur.” He gave Françoise a toothy grin. At least it wouldn’t be his problem. He turned and left in search of the wayward passengers.

“Lucette and her girls will be sharing the cabin with us.”

“Awwww….,” Dale whined.

“What would you have me do? This is no joy, Dale. We have to stay together.”

Dale knew she was right. Damn her…

“No hanky panky?”

“Han…ky?”

“You know… fun.”

“Pan… ky?”

Dale stepped into Françoise’s personal space, her finger finding a space in the woman’s shirt and teasing the skin underneath. “No more lovin’, huh?”

Françoise felt the tingle all the way to her toes. “Fun…” Dale’s breath found the hole where her finger was. “Hanky panky…” Those two words were going to haunt her in the days and weeks to come. “Non…” Françoise stepped back, putting some space between herself and her tormenter. “We have things to do before the women arrive.”

“Things?”

“The money, chérie.”

“Why not put it in the chest?” As if that was the most obvious answer.

“It is a good idea Dale, but that will be the first place the Captain will look.”

“The Captain? He won’t touch it.”

“Ahhh Dale, Dale, Dale. My sweet innocent Dale. Of course he will touch it. He will not be able to stop himself. We cannot stay here for the entire voyage watching it.” Françoise looked around the room for places to secret it. “There is nowhere to hide it.”

“Well…” The blonde thought carefully as she searched. She moved to the bunk, her eyes gliding over the recesses there. The straw mattress was pushed aside.

“That will not work, chérie. I am not sleeping on gold coin for weeks on end. I have to put up with… with… these,” she waved her hand over her body, indicating the bandage and her crotch.

“No… no.” Dale tapped the wooden base. “Do you think this might be empty underneath?”

“It might be…” Françoise’s eyes lit up. Drawing the dagger from her boot, she pried away one of the boards to find a hollow space. “Chérie, you are wonderful!” Her delight was infectious, drawing Dale into the celebration. Before the blonde had a chance to regain her composure, Françoise was already in motion. With a swift twist of a key the chest was open, the French woman rifling through the contents.

“What are you doing?”

Françoise drew out a rough blanket from the trunk, placing it in the bottom of the hole. “This will dampen the sound, mon cœur.” Reaching for the sacks she had carried on board with great difficulty, she took out the cloth bags, placing one after another into the cloth nest she had made. When there were only two bags left, Françoise banged the wood back into place.

“What about those?”

“We cannot be penniless, Dale. If he does get inside the box, he has to find something. Otherwise he will know that we have hidden it elsewhere. It is better to lose a little than lose it all.” Françoise placed the remaining bags into the chest, tucked away into their supplies.

Dale watched as her lover put the items back into the box. She had not had a chance to see what Françoise had bought and her eyes found it difficult to take it all in. A spare change of clothes, herbs, dried foods and flasks caught her eye before the lid slammed shut. “Where’s the kitchen sink?”

“Sink?” Françoise was getting tired of trying to understand what her wife was saying. Maybe she could get the woman to write them down to save all the confusion.

“Never mind.” Dale hadn’t realized how much she spoke in slang and wondered how much effort it was going to take to stop doing that. Probably more than she had to spare at the moment. “What about that?” She pointed to the mirror frame. “The jewels are still in there, right?”

“Oui. But I will correct that.” With one swift twist and a push here and a prod there, the wooden frame gave up its secret. Carefully Françoise removed the jewels and placed them in the hiding place they had chosen, carefully wrapping them in the rough hewn blanket. “That should do.” If she had her way, she would hide the frame as well. “I hope that will be enough.”

“You said a mouthful.”

“Errr…. fine.” The French woman turned back to the frame and put the panel back in place before turning to the chest and opening it. Her hand flicked through the contents until she found what she was looking for. She knew it was a good idea to purchase these items when she saw them yesterday. Originally she had every intention of keeping a journal as a means of whiling away the monotonous days ahead, but maybe Dale needed it more than she did.

“Maybe you can write these words down.”

“Which words?”

“The words that constantly confuse me, chérie. I want to understand, really.”

“Now you know how I feel, my love. All of you talk at a mile a minute and I am left standing wondering what the hell is going on.”

“Pardon?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oui, I know what you mean.” Françoise handed over the quill, ink and large bound book to her lover. “Help me to understand.”

Dale looked at the items sitting in her hand. Could she do it? Did she want to do it? “Maybe.”

Both women looked up at the knock on the door. “Entrez!” Françoise’s eyes touched Dale’s, her love speaking to the smaller woman in those blue depths. “Everything will be fine, chérie.” Lucette and her girls entered the cabin, followed by Sébastien. “Thank you, Monsieur Rumkey.” The slim man nodded before leaving the group alone.

Dale stood back, allowing her French woman to take control. She never felt so much out of her depth as she did now. It was not her time and not her language. She was an outsider looking in.

“Lucette… I…” What could Françoise say? Things had happened so fast that she didn’t have time to consider the consequences. She had only one thing on her mind and that was Lucette’s survival.

“I should thank you for saving our lives, mon ami.”

“I know it was not what you wanted.”

“But you were right. As much as I did not want to believe it… you were right.” There was a certain amount of resignation in that voice. Françoise watched the heads drop as each French man and woman acknowledged the truth. Things had changed.

“My wife and I have paid passage in this cabin. You are all welcome to share it.” Françoise looked at the brawny man, understanding the confused look there. “You may look elsewhere if you wish, Sébastien. I am not sure what is available, but you are most welcome to sleep here.” Her look sobered. “It is not so seemly but I think the women will need our constant protection so we should all stay together this voyage.”

“I will ask, monsieur, but for now I will accept your invitation.” The blacksmith knew there was another passenger on board but the chances of bunking in with him were dubious. He was a young man of breeding with an attitude to match. Not an aristocrat. No, that class had a certain air of aloofness that was all its own. This young man came from money, a rich merchant’s son. But Sébastien’s upbringing had left him with a certain amount of propriety. A single man did not sleep in the same room as a single woman. And yet… Philippe was there with his wife. Maybe he could find a quiet corner to sleep in away from the temptation.

“Good. Now let us get some air. We will be spending long enough in here in the weeks to come.”

* * *

Françoise was unaware that there was another passenger on board. Everything had been in turmoil, leaving her to focus solely on her own problems. The young man sat on a small barrel looking out to sea. He was perhaps twenty-two years old, of slim build and bordering-on-handsome features. His demeanor, however, spoke of seclusion. He was one who wanted to keep his own counsel.

“Ahhh, monsieur. Excuse my manners. I did not see you arrive on board.”

He scrutinized the young man trying to strike up a conversation with him. “You would not have.” He turned his attention back to the rolling sea.

“My name is Philippe Théroux. Bonjour.”

For a moment Françoise thought the young man wouldn’t return the compliment, but slowly his head turned and looked her up and down once. He extended his hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it in Françoise’s open palm. “Alain Barbineau, monsieur.”

“Barbineau? I know that name…” Her mind wandered off in search of the information, failing to notice the look of resignation on the young Frenchman’s face. “Ėtienne Barbineau? Do you know him?”

“He is my father.” He took in the tattered coat and mud-spattered hose that Françoise wore. “And you… know him?” The sound of surprise in his voice did not go unnoticed.

“Non. I have not met him personally, but I know of him.”

Françoise could nearly hear the ‘I thought so’ emanating from his mind. He took one look at her and dismissed her as inconsequential. She was almost tempted to tell the young whippersnapper about his father. Her husband had had dealings with him concerning some of his more… dubious… requests. The man was a very wealthy and very successful merchant, but he was also not deterred by the legality of some of the cargo he carried.

She watched him, deciding that such petty behavior was below her. If he so decided that she was not worth conversing with, well then it was his loss. Her eyes dropped to the book resting in his lap. “Ahhh, Marivaux. Très bien.”

“You have read Marivaux?” Why did he seem surprised?

“I have read many works, monsieur. Do not let the state of my attire deceive you. ‘Le Paysan parvenu’. That is one of his better works. ‘Les Fausses Confidences’ is also very good, but my favorite is ‘Marianne’. It is a shame that he never finished them.”

“Oui, it is.”

“I would have taken you for a reader of Voltaire or Rousseau.”

“Considering what has happened to France, monsieur, my heart is not in reading such prose right now. Times are dark enough without reading about their so-called ‘enlightenment’.”

“Interesting…”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Do you have some complaint, monsieur?” His voice hardened as he asked the question.

“Not at all… Alain.” She stopped to gauge his reaction to her using his first name. When no response came, she continued. “It just surprises me that someone of your obvious breeding who is well versed in the arts is reading a comedy instead of immersing himself in the ideals of Rousseau. It is a time of upheaval, monsieur, and most young men’s minds have turned to politics and freedom.”

“And you do not believe in such things… Philippe?” He smiled at her, throwing her own name back at her.

“I am a merchant, Alain. It does not matter to me who is in power. Goods are sold to those with money, despite whichever regime controls it.”

“Ahhh…” He relaxed. “You sound just like my father.”

“I do not mean to do so…”

“Non. Do not apologize. Successful merchants take advantage of the circumstances presented to them.” But there was a tinge of resentment in his voice.

“Well, I am not taking advantage now. My wife and I are returning to America. Her father is gravely ill.” The well-worn lie slid off her tongue easily.

“We are not going to America, monsieur.”

“I am aware of that. We are hoping to find another ship at St. Domingue.”

“That may prove difficult. Not many French ships travel to the English Colonies. We are not on good terms with the English.”

“I am aware of that, Alain. Nevertheless, we will try. It is better to be nearly there than not to have left at all.” And nowhere where you could be caught and hanged…, she added mentally. “Ahhh… there is my wife.” Françoise watched her wife stride across the expanse of deck towards her, her gentle sway of her hips under the dress enchanting her. “Monsieur Barbineau, may I present my wife, Madame Isa...,” she paused. What was the point in hiding it? “…Dale Théroux.”

“Bonjour, madame.”

“Dale, this is Monsieur Alain Barbineau. It appears he is another passenger on this ship.”

“Pleased to meet… bonjour monsieur.” Her words trailed off, knowing very well that the young man had no idea what she was saying. He took her offered hand and kissed the back of it.

“If you will excuse me, monsieur, I will adjourn to my room.” He walked off in the direction of the cabin, his head turning for a moment to catch young Rosalie’s eye for a second. While Françoise had secured the Captain’s cabin for the voyage, young Alain had a much smaller room that backed onto the wall of the larger cabin. On the other side of the ship was another small room, which was being used as a food storage locker for the voyage. They could ill afford to eat spoiled food from the cargo hold.

“Cupid is busy, I see,” Dale murmured.

“Hmmm…?” But Françoise’s mind was elsewhere.

Dale finally realized where the vessel was. “I thought we were going to America. Why are we sailing along the coast?”

“Ah.” Françoise’s time had just run out. “We are going somewhere else first.”

“You mean a detour?”

“Oui, un détour, as you say.” She remained quiet, hoping that Dale would be satisfied with that answer.

“And…?”

“And?”

“What are you not telling me, oh husband of mine?” Dale knew it was going to be bad. Françoise was skirting the issue.

“We are going to Africa first,” the French woman mumbled, the words trailing off to nothing.

“Going where?”

“We should reach Ouidah in a few days.” Rumkey informed the passengers. “Once we have picked up our cargo and supplies we will begin our journey to St. Domingue.”

“Merci, monsieur.” Françoise glanced at the back of the short man as he walked away.

“Where are we going Fra… Philippe. What’s going on?” But the tall woman just couldn’t speak the words. “Come on, spit it out.”

“I will do no such disgusting thing, Dale.”

“Tell me!” Dale was all but shouting at the woman.

“We are going to Ouidah… the Ivory Coast… to pick up slaves for the west.” There. It was said. Now she herself had never really thought about the plight of black slaves. She was always led to believe that the slaves were being taken to a better life. It was not of her concern and therefore not her problem. But Dale… From what she had seen of the future social propriety had changed. Her sweet Dale worried about everything and this would be one more thing that she would take to heart. That was just the way she was. “This is a slave ship, chérie.”

Dale said nothing, her eyes gazing at the water in contemplation. “Say something, mon cœur. This silence is… is… maddening.” Still nothing. “Slap me, kick me, yell at me. Do something!” Dale’s eyes looked into hers, showing the betrayal in those emerald depths. “I had no choice. There were no other ships.”

Dale stopped. It was not Françoise’s fault. The woman was just trying to get them out of France quickly, and by what happened on the waterfront this morning it was a wise move. “Sorry. You just took me by surprise.”

“Maybe I should have looked elsewhere…”

“Don’t question your decisions now… Philippe. These women are alive because of you. How I feel about this will just have to be put aside for the moment.”

“I know how you feel, little one.”

“How? We’ve never discussed this before.”

“You do not need to. I can see it in your eyes.”

“And you, Philippe? How do you feel?”

“It does not matter how I feel. I only want to make you happy.” Françoise eyes tried to make contact with Dale’s.

“Tell me.”

“I…” What could the French woman say? Tell the truth or a small white lie? She had kept enough from her partner already. Dale seemed to want to know the truth. “I have never really thought about it, mon cœur.”

“Did you have any slaves?” Did Dale really want to know?

“At first we did. One or two. But that was my husband’s doing, not mine.”

Dale understood. From what she had learned he was a man of macabre tastes, so a black slave or two would not have been out of the realm of his predilections. Her gaze returned to the sea. “And after his death?”

“They were gone by then. He was too… ill… to enjoy their talents.” What had actually happened to her husband was to forever remain a mystery and she would work very hard at keeping it that way.” Concerned blue eyes watched the smaller woman shiver. That was exactly how she felt and she had been there. “I got rid of them... sold them.”

“Why didn’t you leave as well?”

Why didn’t she? “I had nowhere else to go, chérie. My family had disappeared. I now had money and a title that was worth something. The cause of my pain was gone.” All of that was true, but the basic truth was far deeper. She sighed. “He took everything I had and I just did not care any more. I stayed because the servants looked after me so I did not have to look after myself. They could have left me but I was the source of their wages. We needed each other.”

“I’m sorry…”

“For what? None of this is your fault.”

“Because I made you feel again. I made you take responsibility.” Dale rested her chin on her hands sitting on the rail. “Maybe I am a taker as well.”

“Maybe, my love.” Surprised eyes looked up at her. “But then where would I be?” Françoise smiled sweetly. “At the end of a hangman’s noose perhaps?”

“I sort of got the impression that’s where you wanted to be.”

“Before…maybe. I was tired of living. But now? Do you not realize how important you are to me, chérie? Everything has changed. Everything.”

Dale felt a bit of that guilt slip away. She had known that Françoise’s life was not ideal and she had always wondered if what she had done had helped or hindered her. Now she knew. A cold finger touched her cheek, drawing her attention to the woman standing next to her. “You saved me, Dale. I was lost but now I am found.”

“Amazing Grace…” Dale warbled. The tall woman chuckled, relieved that Dale had accepted her tale. “This is all part of our destiny, you know.”

“Destiny…” Françoise peered at the coastline, wondering where this was all going to lead. “Hmmmm…. Destiny.”

“Monsieur… a word with you.” The Captain grumpily commanded an audience with the young man.

Françoise looked over her shoulder at the unkempt man and shuddered. She could smell him even in the gentle breeze. “What do you want?”

“In my cabin.”

“It is our cabin now, Captain.”

“It will always be my cabin, monsieur.” The Captain bristled. “You are there because I agreed to it. Never forget that.”

“So, what do you want?”

“In my cabin.” He repeated, already swiveling on his feet to walk away.

“So what does Mr. Stinky want?”

“I think he wants his thirty pieces of silver, my love.” How appropriate was that biblical reference? Françoise and Dale smiled at one another, fully understanding the depth of that sentence.

* * *

“Where is my money?” The Captain was seated in his chair as Françoise entered the room. He was stamping his authority on this vessel.

“Your money, Captain? I thought the fare would go to the owner of this vessel.”

“In due course…”

Françoise seriously doubted that, otherwise he would have accepted payment above deck. She unlocked the trunk and searched around for the sack of coins. The bag landed with a clink as it hit the tabletop. “There.”

He reached for the bag quickly, his eyes glowing with greed. His bushy eyebrows met in a frown. “Where is the rest of it?”

“You will get it when we reach the New World, Captain.”

“That was not our agreement.”

“We agreed to the amount, Captain, not how it would be paid.” Françoise’s lips curved up invitingly. “If the voyage is satisfactory, I will add another one hundred livres to the amount for the other passengers.”

“One hundred? They are worth ten times that!”

“One hundred, Captain. That is all I am offering.”

“They still have to be fed, to be housed…”

“I will pick up supplies and they will stay in this cabin with me.” Her look hardened and she told the Captain in no certain terms that she was serious. “Now, if you will get out of my cabin, Captain, our business is done.”

Angrily, the stout man grabbed his charts and instruments and moved across the room, standing in the doorway as his eyes fixated on the trunk.

“Before you go, Captain, there is nothing of value in that trunk, so do not bother wasting your time trying to open it.” Françoise made a show of sitting down in the Captain’s chair, shuffling paper around as if she had serious business to take care of. “By the way…,” she said, not bothering to look up, “…if you are thinking about doing something stupid remember this, if something happens to us there will be no more money. My business partner does not take kindly to harm befalling me or my wife, and as he will be the one paying the rest of the money I would suggest that you ensure that we get there safely. That now includes the other passengers as well. Is that understood?”

He growled, “Understood.”

Françoise thought she could hear his teeth grind. She had made her point.

* * *

“What on earth are you doing?” Dale glared at Françoise standing at the railing with a clay pipe hanging from her mouth.

“I am blowing bubbles, chérie,” she replied sarcastically.

“That is a disgusting habit. How come I never knew you smoked?”

“I do not smoke.”

“But… but… you just….”

“I am supposed to be a man, Dale. I have to do manly things.”

“Manly things? That’s shaving, scratching your crotch, spitting if necessary and making love to me standing up. Not smoking.” She eyed the offending piece of pottery with great disdain. “Nope… uh uh… no.”

“I’m not actually smoking it. I’m pretending to smoke it.”

“And that’s pretend smoke coming out the top then?”

“Remember this moment in the weeks to come when I do not have a beard, Dale. How are we going to explain that?”

“Oh…”

“Oui, oh.” It was so nice when she won an argument against her younger companion.

The burly blacksmith sidled up along side the tall woman. “I did not imagine that you were a smoker of that weed.”

“Do you partake, Sébastien?”

“Not any more, Philippe. I lost the taste for it.” When Françoise began to put it out, he held up a hand. “Do not stop because of me.”

“I am not, my friend, I am stopping because of her…” Her finger pointed at Dale. “…I want to sleep well tonight.”

* * *

Sleep had been eluding Françoise. Since the beginning of the voyage the Captain had been observing them or, more to the point, observing her waiting, plotting, planning. She felt it was her duty to watch him also and anticipate his every move but it was wearing her out.

She rose from bed and wandered over to the window, skillfully avoiding the mass of bodies sleeping on the floor. As she looked out the moonlight cast its ghostly light over the sea, touching the foamy tops in a fluorescent glow. The sea never slept, negligently tossing whatever had the impudence to sail on it.

Her eyes slipped to the left to their luggage and, more importantly the mirror resting behind it. It was barely visible in the dark but she knew it was there. She could feel it. With one last glance at the darkened waves Françoise moved to the frame, allowing a lone finger to slip over its contours.

The familiarity of it stimulated a memory of a night back in the infancy of their romance. It was a night when she had observed Dale asleep in her bed, the same moon illuminating the bed through the skylight above it. She had been so tempted to cross that portal.

As her mind recounted the moment, Françoise’s hands absently caressed the dark wood that warmed to her touch. It was soft and pliable like familiar soft skin….

I sit at my toilette just observing her. I am pleased that I had the mirror moved to a more amenable place, easily accessed from my seated position.

It is dark and I cannot sleep. The exquisite creature that haunts me is sleeping in her bed, teasing me with her beauty and just out of my reach. I had allowed her to come to me, to be sure of her commitment to me as I am of her. But the sight of her disheveled state, uncovered from the bedclothes wrapped around her, sorely tests my resolve. Her bare legs are visible up to mid-thigh because her nightgown has ridden up her body. It is a torture that I can no longer endure.

Despite my best intentions my hunger needs to be sated. With that thought in mind, I stand before our deliverer… the mirror that had given us new life. I slip my lace jacket and nightgown off my shoulders and place them on the bed to await my return. The chill in the air is immediate and my body responds in kind.

Without a moment’s delay I take that step that my Dale has taken in the past few days, feeling for the first time that wash as I cross the portal of time. It is a strange sensation and yet hauntingly familiar. It is almost like a blessing from God, granting us passage to re-unite. To Him I am grateful, for without her my life has no value.

The air is different here, a drier and slightly warmer atmosphere than the one I had just left. It is foreign and reinforces the situation I am in. I am with her.

Dale stirs, as if she feels my arrival. She sighs and shifts, the cool cotton sheet slipping again and giving me full view of her sweet body. As if to aid me, the light from the moon brightens as it emerges from behind a cloud, bathing her in an ethereal aura. She is an angel sent from heaven to save my immortal soul.

I have had my fill of watching her and now seek a baser sensation. The mirror is not far from her bed and I only take two steps to fulfill my need. I watch as my hand reaches out for her, the pads of my fingers drawing the sweet, sweet sensation of her skin. I close my eyes so that my touch can greedily absorb her, discovering all over again the contours and planes that define her. My eyes open when I feel her stir again, this time to be met by the emerald shards glittering in the moonlight.

She is neither scared nor anxious, but mildly curious and a little bit amused. “What are you doing here?”

“You are dreaming, chérie,” I answer, but a rakish tilt of her eyebrow tells me I have fooled no one. “To be with you,” I admit. What can I say? It is the truth.

She smiles that secret little smile that reveals her pleasure.

“Do you want me to leave?” The question is unimportant because I will convince her one way or another that I am meant to be here to love her.

Again she smiles, not a word passing her dry lips. Just as I consider moistening them for her, a small pink tongue emerges and licks them. I feel the action in the pit of my stomach. She has to just lick her lips and I am lost.

Her eyes slip down my torso, stopping momentarily at the heart of me. Again my libido reacts to the subtle signals she is giving me. I want her and I want her now.

Her index finger beckons me near and I oblige, letting my hands slide up the willing body underneath them. Muscles twitch and harden as my touch stirs her, the cloth of her sleeping garment barely felt between us. As if answering my call, my hands have unwittingly snagged the material and are slowly rising up her body. Her skin, bathed in the white glow of moonlight, pebbles lightly with the night air. She giggles seductively.

Just as I am about to reach my destination she rolls over, presenting her back to my wandering gaze. I have wanted to investigate this piece of skin since she teased me with it when she stripped in front of the mirror, if it could be called that. The material left little to my imagination but my mind had more than enough knowledge to easily complete the enticing picture she presented. How wrong was I…

I am only now becoming aware of her sweet treasure and how little I really know about her. I know that it is presumptuous of me to assume so much but I have felt I have known her in another life, so strong was her effect on me that first night I spied her in the mirror. But it is a matter for the daylight when I am no longer in her presence.

My body covers hers, warming the cooling skin with my own. Ahhh…it is like coming home, but not like any home I have ever known. It is full of warmth and love, something I have never experienced in my life. But what am I doing? I am intent on ravaging her and she has me thinking of love and romantic declarations.

My lips find her skin, latching onto the back of her neck. I cannot help but taste that piece of anatomy. My tongue slides along her painting her back in long moist stripes, intermittently interspersed with nips from my teeth. She is indeed a delicious banquet to be savored slowly and fully. Dale sighs as my breasts rub along her back. Her own back muscles tense as my tongue finds a ticklish spot. I cannot help but admire the display moving under my lips. She is exquisite.

My hands have been idle while my lips have traveled over her, supporting my weight with shaky hands. I want it to never end but my arms will not comply. As my strength gives out I allow myself to lower to her skin, rolling to one side for access to her.

Her eyes are like glittering emeralds as she watches me. I return her frank gaze with one of my own and smile, all the while my hand maps the curvaceous terrain. Our lips meet, at first in gentle greeting but swiftly our hunger is ignited by the touch. Her tongue touches my skin and I give her entry, permitting her to take control. She deepens the kiss, her tongue skillfully searching out mine like one soul finding another.

My reaction is immediate and sweet as her tongue slowly circles mine, strongly demanding that I comply with her needs. She draws me out until we can feel nothing but air gliding between our parted lips. This is not a subtle dance. No, a minuet is too tame for the power between us. It is more like some lowly sultry Spanish country dance that sets our passion aflame. It is a dance that requires absolute dedication and fiery resolve.

Before I have even realized it she has made her move, steely arms and taut stomach have aided her to move with lightning speed. I am now on my back without any knowledge of getting there. It is this fiery streak in her that I want to nurture, to protect and be the recipient of, for I know it is her true nature. Her shyness is more of lack of experience than apprehension and with time I will ease her of that burden.

Her tongue darts out and touches my ear as she re-acquaints herself. While I am more than grateful for any attention she wishes to bestow on me I am in the mood for something more… I cannot find the word for what I want. Wild? Passionate? Earth-shattering? What I want is beyond all these and more.

As if she has read my mind, her tongue is replaced by teeth firmly grasping the lobe and biting hard. The dart of pain flows through me like brandy, heating my veins and stirring my blood. She is caressing me everywhere with her body, her hands, her tongue, her lips, her teeth. She has become the savage beast that I desire.

Short nails scrape up my side, hard enough to leave red tracks but soft enough not to break the skin. I feel every agonizing inch of torture deep in me, teasing the heart of me and setting my soul afire.

Her teeth continue to discover me, traveling down my neck to torment a neglected nipple. The bite makes me jump, more from surprise than pain although she is not gentle in her ministrations. She is determined to leave her mark on me. I only hope that it is not something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

My eyes wander down my chest to be met by blazing green eyes watching me. They are full of fire, with a healthy mix of anger, determination and lust. Ahhh… here is ma petit sauvage in all her glory and I silently applaud her courage. I smile at her gently in approval and she continues her consummation of me.

While she has me thinking about my nipple, her hand has moved to between my legs gently drawing out my passion without my knowledge. My nipple starts to ache with the constant attention but I am loathe to stop her. I am walking that fine line between pleasure and pain and I wish to keep that balance.

My hands begin to wander, filtering through the soft blonde strands of the head hovering over me. She senses my restlessness and begins to travel down my body. I feel that loving attention in every moist trail of her tongue and every stroke of her determined hand. She has me standing on top of the highest mountain ready to throw myself off into oblivion… and I do not care. For the first time in my life I have no fear of that leap. In fact, I welcome it.

I close my eyes to absorb her love without distraction. It is as close to heaven as I can reach, feeling every single nuance of her love. Her hand has moved, prompting me to open my eyes. I look down the length of my body and she is staring back at me, her tongue poised over her fingers and wisps of her shaggy hair veiling her eyes. She smiles for a moment before she lowers her head, touching me in so many ways that I cannot count.

It is such a sweet, sweet ache that is truly appreciated in the dark. I lay back and just feel…the touch of her tongue on me, a wayward hand that has found my left cheek and gently digging in her nails in time to her tongue, her hot breath touching me in its passing sending sparks skittering across my skin, or while her foot is caressing my lower leg. She is using every part of her body to worship mine and I am undone. Dale has come of age. What more can I teach her that she does not already know? She has an innate sense of what is needed and is able to accomplish this.

I can feel the precipice approaching quickly as she intensifies her ministrations. She takes me by surprise by nipping me, her teeth taking hold of the center of me and swiping her tongue. It is almost too much as each intense spike of pleasure makes me jump. I fear for Dale’s safety as she continues to play me. Should I make her stop? But the sensation is too much for me to forego. I am in limbo, caught between desire and concern, and I cannot make up my mind. I barely have a valid thought in my head while she is loving me, so I have none. I cannot fight this maelstrom so I succumb to its madness…

Françoise stared blankly at the empty mirror. She was shaking and exhausted. The dream was both erotic and illuminating, and the message was blatantly obvious. She needed to get laid…and soon. Her only course of action was to breathe in some cool sea air and try to calm her raging libido.

* * *

Françoise leaned heavily on the railing, looking out over the moon-kissed water. Her emotions were roiling. How much longer could she last without touching Dale? Her dreams gave her away, showing her what could be and what was being denied. Looking over her shoulder at the upper deck she observed the two men on watch, one at the wheel while he other surveyed the horizon for possible danger. It would be so easy…

Silently Françoise moved further away, seeking the shadows near the bow. Her fingers had already reached for the buttons of her breeches, shakily feeding them through the well-worn holes. Her hand hovered there, her mind in conflict over seeking completion and remaining true to Dale.

“What are you doing out here?”

The French woman felt the blonde’s presence even before she spoke. Should she lie or tell the truth? “Getting some fresh air, ma chérie.”

“I can see that. Why do you need fresh air? Why didn’t you just come back to bed?”

Françoise could feel that her lover knew. It was a bit unnerving that someone could read her so easily. “I…”

“I know how you feel.”

Françoise seriously doubted that. After her dream she was about to explode. Her head hung in defeat. Dale was in her presence so any relief was going to have to wait. Her hood eyes turned to her partner trying to look into eyes that hid in the darkness. “I had a dream…”

Dale heard the rough edge to the words and knew what was bothering her tall companion. “Really? What was it about?”

“You do not want to know, chérie. At least, not here.” How could she describe the erotic images without throwing the woman down on the deck and consuming her?

“Is that all you think about?” Dale teased. They were both trying to be celibate and it was proving too much for her more experienced lover.

“Is there anything else?” Françoise retorted. She was being bitchy, she knew that, but her need was clouding her judgment.

“Hmmm…” Dale momentarily looked out over the waves before returning to Françoise, “I suppose not… at least, in your case.” Hesitantly she asked, “Do you want to go somewhere?”

Françoise was speechless. Her little American was growing bold. “Ahhh…” She threw caution to the wind and grabbed Dale’s hand, sliding it down between her breeches and her heated skin.

Dale’s heart was pounding. Françoise’s action had been totally unexpected and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the top deck, pleased to see that the two sailors seemed to be ignoring them. Or so she hoped. She withdrew her hand and heard an intake of breath beside her, knowing that she had probably not only disappointed her lover but silently admonished her for even considering such an action.

Dale turned around so that her back was lightly brushing the railing, before changing the angle of her body so that she was facing her partner. Her right hand took up position where her left hand had been a moment before. “Too hard the other way,” she whispered.

Françoise didn’t know what to think. One moment she was in the depths of despair as the hand moved away from where she needed it most, to the next moment where her libido was soaring with desire as another hand took its place. Dale had placed it there. Her little blonde had willingly agreed to this. It was unbelievable. The woman continued to surprise her in so many ways, each a welcome gift to her soul.

All thought scattered to the four winds as that hand crept slowly along her skin, seeking out the heat of her. Françoise’s eyes looked into Dale’s as the woman’s hand agonizingly crawled towards her destination, until finally she could feel a lone digit finding its home. There was almost an innocence in those emerald eyes communicating with hers, a sensuality in those shadowed lips curving slightly in invitation and a breathlessness in the satiny cheek touched by the moonlight. Françoise felt her throat tighten with emotion.

The rest of Dale’s hand negotiated the leather fixture in her pants and was eagerly finding the source of Françoise’s pleasure. Her own fingers tightened on the railing as Dale moved subtly, stimulating the nerve endings that had jumped to life at the arrival of the blonde’s first touch.

It was harder than she thought possible to keep silent, so Françoise resorted to taking a deep breath and holding it, allowing the sweeping pleasure to drown her. It was like quicksand, slowly drawing her down into a mire that she couldn’t, and didn’t want to, escape from. It was a trap that she was willing to die for.

Long after she had come back to earth Dale continued to caress her, keeping those same nerve endings on edge and sending sparks through her body in an uneven rhythm. Dale had her right where she wanted her… on the edge of that precipice, ready to jump with a flick of a finger. She was becoming light headed with all the deep breathing but it was the only thing stopping her from crying out to the heavens. And she wanted to… oh Lord, she wanted to. To cry out not only her pleasure but her love for the woman loving her. Her eyes returned to Dale and told her without words that very thing.

“Feeling better?” Dale’s voice was teasing and sensual. A roving tongue emerged and touched her fingers, prolonging the seduction a little bit longer.

“Mon Dieu…,” Françoise moaned softly at the display. She leant on the railing, her body still tingling and her mind still reeling. She found it very hard to care about anything at that moment. Her mind had shut down in favor of just absorbing the sexual signals still bouncing around inside her.

“What brought this on?”

“You have to ask, chérie?” Dale didn’t answer, not that she expected her to. “I was reminiscing.”

“Yeah? Anything I should know about?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I was at the window when saw the mirror. I just had to touch it. Maybe I was to remember why we were here but it found a memory in me. Well, more a fantasy.”

“Really? You want to tell me?” Dale shifted closer.

“It was just after you came to me. I was watching you sleep in your bed. I was so tempted to come to you that night but I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, my scared little rabbit, if you woke up in your bed with me standing over you, you would have run away fast. No, ma petite sauvage, it was always your decision. I know I can be sometimes…”

“Overwhelming? Dominating? Sex on a stick?”

“Oui, and more.”

“So, what about this fantasy…”

“Well, I think I should save it for another day.” She laughed at the pouting lip of her lover. “A bedtime story when we have time to investigate it more.” The twinkle in her eye could barely be seen in the low light, so she allowed the joviality to seep into her voice. “Now, back to bed, my sweet.” She could almost hear the audible moan of disappointment. “Soon, chérie.”

“How soon?” Desperation laced Dale’s words.

“When I can find somewhere quiet on this vessel that we can hide. As you can see, it is a little crowded. Still, you did very well for your first performance in public, ma chérie.”

“My first perfor...? Oh no, no, no it’s not.”

Françoise could feel the heat from Dale’s blush. “Oui, it is.”

“It is only if they know what you’re doing.”

Françoise looked up at the bridge crew as they entered the hall of the lower deck, taking in the smirks crossing their faces. “How silly of me to think such a thing…”

* * *

The door opened with a squeak of hinges, sounding loud against the breaking waves and the occasional snore. The two women shuffled quietly back to the bunk, shifting around on the lumpy mattress until they were able to settle. Françoise was quite proud of herself, managing to satisfy her lover’s need in the storage room. Dale had bit her hand to stifle her cry but otherwise the location seemed perfect for their purposes.

“Are you happy now… Philippe?” Lucette’s voice cut through the darkness, followed by the snickering of females. Françoise suspected it was all of them, but she picked out the distinctive high-pitched giggle of Lisette.

“Oui, tantine…” Françoise grumpily scratched the storage room off her mental list of possible locations. So much for that solution…

* * *

Chapter 5

The port of Algiers had been growing steadily as the ship approached land on the morning of the fourth day they had been at sea. They had been hugging the coastline to Portugal before crossing open water to Africa and following the coast south until they would reach the hub of the African trade. The Ivory Coast. The bulk of African slaves were funneled through this area. English and French sought the valuable cargo here, sailing to other parts of the world with a labor force to support their burgeoning empires.

“Monsieur Rumkey!”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Why are we stopping here? Should we not be going to Ouidah?”

“Normally we do, monsieur, but the Captain told us to sail to Algiers first. So here we are.”

“Strange…” Maybe the Captain wasn’t stopping for slaves. Françoise doubted that but she was thankful for the shorter voyage.

Françoise had spent a considerable amount of that time on deck keeping a watchful eye on the Captain. But she knew she couldn’t keep it up forever. It was tiring and it was stressful. She needed a hobby or two. One immediately came to mind but the raw materials for that one stood next to her on the deck. So close and yet so far. What on earth possessed her to share their cabin? Françoise’s eyes slipped past her wife to the other women leaning over the railing. Oh yes, that was why. Lucette’s eyes touched hers in warmth.

“Poor Violette.” Dale tilted her head towards the young woman who was heaving over the side. Why was it that when someone was sick they were referred to as being green? Funny, the young French woman didn’t look green. It was more a pasty gray.

“You know her name?”

“Philippe, I may not understand French but I am not deaf!” Dale harrumphed at her lover and turned her back in disgust. The quiet chuckle from behind her irritated her even more. “Stop it!” she hissed.

“Ahhh, Dale, you are so delightful!” It was nice to finally have something to laugh about. Events of late had stripped away Françoise’s sense of humor. She wrapped her arms around Dale and held her close as the crew hurried about to trim the sails and prepare for docking.

Dale breathed deeply. So many sights, sounds and smells and all so foreign to her. She had traveled in her lifetime, after all she came from a wealthy family, but two hundred years of history had put a different slant on her perceptions.

Dale’s hands sought out Françoise’s for comfort as she watched the humanity on the docks. There were a number of ships in port, either unloading or loading goods. Her vision narrowed down to a crowd of street urchins trying to sell wares, beg for money or just plain steal. They danced around two white men who had come off the next ship along from where they were berthed. It was like a shell game. Watch one hand while the other robbed you blind, and these children had the scam down to a fine art.

“Break out the gangplank!” The Captain’s rusty voice yelled over the clatter of winches, the rumble of collapsing sail and the grunts of tired men.

“So what happens now, Monsieur Rumkey?”

“We will be in port for a few hours, monsieur, to pick up our cargo. We set sail on the evening tide.”

“Very well…”

“It is not wise to wander too far from the ship, monsieur.” The small man’s eyes flickered to Dale in warning. Françoise’s eyes followed his gaze, finally understanding the meaning. A white woman in this exotic port, especially one as beautiful as Dale, would be a rare prize.

“I will heed your warning, Rumkey.”

“What’s going on?”

“He was just suggesting that we stay on board, Dale.”

“But…”

“I am sorry, chérie. It is just too dangerous for us to wander about alone. I do not want to have to fight some Arabian Prince to get my wife back.”

“Ahhh…”

“However…” Françoise let her arms slip away from Dale. “Lucette! S'il te plaît.” She didn’t try to move away from her wife, knowing that Dale railed at being left out of what was going on. “We are going to need more supplies. Are you up to carrying out such a task? Take Honorine with you as she is the cook. I will ask Monsieur Baptiste to escort you. Perhaps Monsieur Rumkey can spare one or two of the crew to help with the supplies.” Françoise wished that she could have gone herself but she baulked at leaving her wife alone with the Captain.

* * *

Françoise stood at the top of the gangplank to watch the party leave on their expedition. She had taken Lucette with her to their cabin and gave her the remaining coin sack from the trunk. Something made her show the woman the secret compartment, in case something happened to her… to them. She suspected if she died, Dale would not be far behind. Lucette handed over her own sack of coin that Françoise had given for safe keeping. Along with the second pistol in the trunk, the French woman added them to the secret hoard, sealing the hiding place with a swift kick to the wooden board.

The small group reached dry land and was quickly swallowed up in the sea of people bustling around in a hive of activity. All she could do now was wait and worry.

“I am surprised, monsieur, that you did not go yourself.”

“I was just thinking the same thing, Rumkey.” Françoise waited for the older man to meet her at the railing. “But I cannot leave my wife alone. Thank you for sparing a few men to help with supplies.”

“My pleasure, monsieur.”

“Please, call me Philippe, or Monsieur Théroux if your tongue falls over my first name.” She smiled. She liked this man. He was an honest sailor and had the makings of a good friend. “I am sure you were not expecting this many passengers. I feel that we should make amends for that.”

“The Captain may not think so, but I can understand the need to save those women. It is a sad day, monsieur, a sad day.”

“Indeed, Rumkey. Who would have thought that one French man would turn on another, eh?” Françoise paused for a moment. “So, where do we go now?”

“From here we set sail to Ouidah then west to St. Domingue. For this time of year it could take from four to six weeks. Of course it depends on weather, wind conditions and currents. We are sailing at the end of the season. Had we waited any longer the winds would have been unfavorable and the trip would take one to two weeks longer.”

“There is that much difference?”

“The winds are seasonal. They blow one way for summer and the other way for winter.”

“I did not know that.”

“Unless you are a man of the sea you would have no need to, monsieur.”

Françoise watched the slow loading and unloading of vessels. “We are leaving tonight, Rumkey?”

“That is correct, monsieur.”

“That is quick, is it not?”

“Oui. Normally we would be in port for two to three days, or even a week or two, to unload and load. The Captain’s orders were to prepare to set sail on the tide.”

“I see. Thank you, Monsieur Rumkey. I will not stop you from your work.”

“My pleasure, monsieur.” He hopped away sprightly, drawing a smile from Françoise. She only hoped that she was full of that much energy when she reached his age. When? A few weeks ago she did not wish for old age. Tiredness crept over her and she longed for a nap. Dale was trying to communicate with Violette, her hands playing charades in an effort to make her thoughts known.

“Dale!”

“Yes, my husband?”

“I will be in our cabin if you need me.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Sure…. Françoise wondered if her wife had started that log yet with all those funny words Dale was prone to use. As she approached the door a sound inside made her stop. The pistol that had been in her waistband was now in her hand, her finger twitching nervously over the trigger. Slowly she opened the door, peering carefully inside for danger. Kneeling on the floor in front of the trunk was one of the crew, one of the two she met that first day she came aboard to arrange passage. She rested her shoulder against the wall and studied him as he clumsily tried to use a knife to pry open the lock.

“A key works better.” Her low words cut through the air. Françoise leveled the pistol at the intruder. “Get up,” she growled, the menace in her voice telling him he was in trouble.

“But… but…”

“There is nothing you can say that will satisfy me, monsieur. You are a thief and I shoot thieves.”

“No... no… the Captain…”

“The Captain was behind this?” He nodded mutely. She was not surprised. It was only a matter of time. The muzzle of the gun waved him away from the box and Françoise moved in, carefully laying down the weapon before removing the key from around her neck and opening the lid. She brought out everything inside for his inspection. “As you can see, there is nothing of value here. I told the Captain that. He obviously did not believe me.”

Françoise swiftly picked up the pistol. Luckily, the man had been mesmerized with the goods on display and she was able to get away with being unarmed. “The Captain is so cowardly that he has to send someone else to get caught?” She was beginning to hate the man with a vengeance. “Well, you can tell him that there is no money. No jewels. Nothing of value. What coin I had left is being spent as we speak buying food and supplies for the voyage.” She pointed to the mirror frame. “That is of sentimental value only. It was a wedding present from my parents. There is nothing there but wood, monsieur. Instead of worrying about the contents of my chest he should be concerned with sailing this ship.” She stepped closer until the pistol was touching the smelly sailor’s chest. “You tell the Captain that the next person I find in this cabin without my permission will be shot on sight. Do you understand?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Now get out of here!”

The swarthy man scrambled to the door, his eyes momentarily touching her before he disappeared from sight. Françoise sighed. She was tired, oh so tired. All she wanted was Dale in her arms and a warm comfortable bed. To close her eyes and dream sweet dreams of what might be.

* * *

Dale had tried really hard to communicate with the sick woman. Barely taller than herself, Violette was a pretty little thing. When she smiled, her impish face lit up with energy. However, she was not smiling now. The pasty color had faded to a pale pink but it was only a respite before the real voyage began. Dale knew that they couldn’t leave Violette behind in Algiers because she would likely fall prey to unscrupulous men. A white woman in a foreign city with no one to protect her was not a wise move. It was a certain life imprisonment and possible death. Maybe there was something in the herbs they had. She sought out her lover to ask.

One of the sailors rushed by her as she made her way to the cabin, his head looking back over his shoulder numerous times as if the Devil himself was on his tail. Dale smiled. Or the Devil herself, in the shape of a tall, luscious, dark haired vixen who could bewitch anyone she chose. She could attest to that fact because that was how she was caught.

She slowly opened the door and peered inside carefully. Maybe Françoise was trigger happy and Dale really wanted to keep her own head on her shoulders. “Hello?” Françoise was perched on the edge of the bunk, her head drooping in exhaustion. Dale stepped further into the room. “You look tired. You have to get some sleep, my love. The Captain be damned.”

“I am tired.”

“Then take a nap.”

“I would like to, chérie, but…”

“No buts… I tell you what, how about a bedtime story?”

“Bed…”

“Come on, off with those boots.”

“…time...”

“That’s my girl.”

“…story?”

“Well, that was two words. Any more before you sleep?”

“I have plenty of words for you, Dale.”

“But not now. Sleep now, words later.”

“I cannot…”

“Yes you can. You can’t keep going like this. You need rest.”

“I can think of something better that would cure my tiredness…” Françoise reached out and grabbed Dale’s arm, her hand sliding seductively up the blonde’s skin.

“Now stop that!”

“It is a perfect time.”

“I know it is, but how embarrassing would it be to get caught?”

“Ahhh, my sweet Dale, you have not experienced the thrill of performing in public, eh?”

“Perform… You’re not serious, right?”

Françoise laughed at the shocked look on the woman’s face. “So innocent, ma chérie. You are a delight!” She tugged gently until Dale was seated beside her. “Come. Lie with me for a little while.”

“But…”

“Just hold me, chérie. I miss feeling you close to me.” Françoise reached under her shirt and loosened the bandage. She breathed freely for the first time in quite a while. “That is soooo much better.” Her hand disappeared down her breeches and shifted the attachment that had been nemesis so far and would be her mortal enemy for the rest of the journey.

Dale moved Françoise’s boots to the far wall, opening the window to allow a cool breeze to air the room and her lover’s smelly footwear. “Your feet smell.”

“They do not!”

“Oh, yes they do! Either that or your hose need washing. It’s probably both.”

“I cannot smell them.” She sniffed the air trying to catch a whiff of the disgusting aroma Dale was accusing her of. “Well, you are closer to the floor…”

“Why you…!” Dale made a lunge at the bed, wrestling the laughing French woman to the mattress.

“Ahh, now I have you where I want you.” In Françoise’s eyes her mission was accomplished. She lay down flat and pulled Dale towards her, tucking the smaller woman under her arm until her head was resting on her shoulder. “Now, I believe you owe me a story.”

“A story. Yes. Once upon a time…”

“A time? Not today or tomorrow?”

“No, this is a pretend time. We are swimming in the blue ocean.”

“But I cannot swim, chérie.”

“Will you stop interrupting?”

“But you are saying silly things.”

“It’s a pretend story. I’m allowed to say silly things.” She prodded Françoise in the side, instantly regretting it as the woman instinctively twitched.” We are shipwrecked on a desert island.” Dale could feel the intake of breath and stopped her before she could speak. “It is paradise, okay? Just accept it.” She clicked her tongue. “Sheesh…”

“Fine.” The hypnotic voice was slowly washing away her resolve, allowing her tense body to relax.

“We are swimming… playing around in the shallows. The sun is out and the water is clear and cool.”

“I have never…”

“No, you haven’t, but one day…”

“Oui, one day…” A yawn stopped Françoise’s words.

“One day you will understand all these words. We are naked in the water.”

“Now you have my attention.” But her eyelids started to droop despite the erotic imagery.

The sun beat down mercilessly on the pale bodies playing in the crystal clear water of the lagoon. A spray of water battered her rapidly drying skin as Françoise stalked her prey. Dale giggled like a schoolgirl at the antics of her lover. They were free to play like water sprites in the summer sun. There were no onlookers, no distraction and no clothes. They were free.

Françoise was single-minded in her pursuit of her little minx. “You cannot escape me, ma petite sauvage,” she growled, the words dripping with intent.

“Who says I want to escape?” Emerald eyes danced in the noonday sun, flecks of gold highlighted in the warming rays. But she hopped around in the shallows, staying just out of reach of those long arms.

“Grrrr…,” the growl emanated from Françoise’s chest as she moved in a direct line for her adversary.

“Oh oh…” Dale turned and ran, her short legs making hard work of the knee-high water. Françoise was gaining on her quickly as those long legs plowed through the surf, eating up precious space until she was a hair’s breadth away as they emerged from the water. She stood no chance, she knew that, but half the fun was in the chase, and she made Françoise work hard for her reward.

“Ah ha! I have you now!”

“That sounded so piraty!”

“Piraty? That is a word?”

“For you it is!” Françoise swooped in and caught her wife, pulling her swiftly in the last foot or so. Eager lips sought each other out, sweet seduction long forgotten under the heat of passion. Dale pushed her backwards until they were standing on the edge of the beach, between the water and the sand. “It’s too hot…” she muttered through panting breaths and strangled cries. “Here…” She began to lower herself to the sandy wash, dragging Françoise with her. “A ‘From Here To Eternity’ moment.”

Françoise didn’t even bother to question it. There was no point. Instead she bent her considerable hunger to the dinner table below her lying seductively on the wet sand. A wave slew over them, their bodies subtly shifting with the tide. “Here?”

“Sure.”

Sure… There was that word again. She now knew that meant ‘yes’. It was a strange sensation feeling the heat of their bodies and the sun overhead being cooled by the rhythmic surge of the waves. And yet it was sensual, like fire and ice.

Françoise’s hands wandered, finding a perky nipple begging for her attention. She wasted no time and lowered her mouth to lovingly answer the call. Restless hands found their way into her damp hair, scratching her sandy scalp.

“I love you.” The three words came out of nowhere but seemed oddly perfect at that time and place.

“Moi aussi, ma chérie.” Françoise’s tongue laved the pebbled piece of skin. “With all my heart.” Dale’s hands tightened in a hug and she felt a tickling in her chest. She had never experienced the sensation before Dale and she had come to associate it with love. It was as if her heart was giving the love back. She only wished that Dale could feel it too.

Dale drew her up so that their faces were level. “I can feel it…,” the blonde whispered, placing her hand over the large woman’s heart, “…right here.” Azure eyes widened in surprise. “Now, kiss me you fool…” She giggled at the frown on her lover’s face, pulling her down for a deep kiss to wipe away the concern. “…and you’re not a fool, lover.”

Dale’s hands swept over the broad back above her, restlessly outlining every plane and indentation. She only wished that she could see it. But it was only a matter of closing her eyes and letting her imagination fill in the details, her internal vision sliding over pale soft unblemished skin. It was something that she hoped she never tired of.

Françoise could feel herself slipping away as she bent down to taste the salty skin. A knee insinuated itself between her legs, drawing an agonized moan from her dry lips. She looked down into vibrant green eyes cheekily watching her. “You do not play fair, chérie.”

“I know…” But further words were lost as nimble fingers sought Dale out, sliding over water-slicked skin to find her. Water lapped at their entwined bodies, doing little to cool the ardor building to explosion point, hungrily demanding a satisfaction that was only moments away.

Dale was awash with sensation. Her mind tried to focus on her stimulation of Françoise but instead it was greedily absorbing the movement of her partner’s hand. Frantically she grabbed the face above her, roughly pulling it down to meet hers. Her tongue brooked no argument, demanding entry. She plundered that mouth without remorse as her emotions soared and her body shook.

Before the contractions had even finished Dale was in motion. She flipped her lover over, her hand eagerly seeking to reciprocate the pleasure. “You… are… mine.” The possessive tone of her voice enthralled her partner who was unable to tear her eyes away from the blazing green hovering over her.

Like a vampire the blonde fed on the French woman’s lust, drinking in the life-giving emotion of her lover. She had lost control of her inhibitions and existed on that hedonistic plane that she had seen Françoise in many times in the mirror. Aggressively she sought the pleasure, her fingers delving into the soft warmth of her partner again and again. She paid no need to the guttural sounds that reached her ears. It was only the pleasure that she sought, she craved, she needed and she owned.

Françoise’s mind swirled like a maelstrom. Pleasure and pain had become her friend and confidant, knowing her inner most secrets and feeding them. Dale was like a woman possessed, driving her to the brink of insanity with her resolve for utter completion. Higher and higher she went, her breathing faltering with the thinness of the air. How? How could this slip of a woman know her very soul? Feed her innermost secrets? Be her only desire? The waves hitting the shore were calm compared to the tidal wave washing over her, her body totally out of her control as wave after wave swallowed her whole. And yet Dale would not let her be, controlling her like a puppet and pulling the strings for her to jump. She was but a slave to her own desires and the small blonde continued to expertly play her, not content until she begged for her to stop.

Panting, Françoise looked up to the angelic face above her. “Now I can die a happy woman.”

Dale’s mind had wandered as she told her story, her hand idly drawing circles on Françoise’s stomach. Now she eagerly wished for the whole trip to be over. Françoise had checked everywhere and there seemed there was very little space where they wouldn’t be found. It was going to be a hell of a long voyage.

Dale looked down at her sleeping partner. If she fell asleep after a story like that the woman must have been exhausted. A smacking of lips brought a smile, and she looked down at her lover’s head lying in her lap, a sweet smile adding to the adorable countenance presented to her. Her hand rose to brush away the dark tendrils framing Françoise’s face, a lone finger continuing the journey across the high forehead and long cheek. Dale continued to idly stroke the French woman’s hair as a gentle snore could barely be heard over the creaking of the vessel. At this particular moment everything else faded away, focusing her attention on the two of them. This… this was what was important. Not the Captain, not the voyage and not even the slaves. She suspected the two of them had a part to play in the grand scheme of things. Isn’t that what she had said to Françoise at the beginning of their journey? All this hardship was to test their love and their resolve to remain together.

“Ahh, Philippe…”

“Shhhh….” Dale tried to stop the noise but the entry of four people into the room, their hands full of supplies, was enough to stir her sleeping partner.

“I’m sorry, little one.”

“Uuhhhhhh…..” Françoise groaned. “Oohhhhh…” Pain lanced through her back as she stretched. Dale’s arm swiftly covered her chest, reminding her that the bandage was loose. “Done?”

“Oui, we have. Monsieur Rumkey arranged delivery of more water barrels in our absence. I left the choice of food supplies in Honorine’s capable hands.”

“And I found very little that I’d want to use. Heathen…”

“Honorine! Manners!” Lucette scolded her cook.

“We shouldn’t be here in the first place, Lucette. If he hadn’t interfered…”

“We’d all be dead. We all know that. The sooner you make the best of our circumstances the easier this trip will be.”

“But…”

“No, Honorine. It stops here. No more sniping, if you please.” Lucette could see Françoise’s predicament and ushered the helpers out the door. “Thank you everyone. Now, we should leave them alone.”

“Alone? Do not spoil them…,” the cook muttered under her breath.

“Honorine, let them be.” Lucette gave the two women one final look, rolling her eyes in exasperation before closing the door behind her.

“Thank God for that woman.”

“Now see what would have happened if we had been fooling around?”

“Oui. I would have a smile on my face, chérie.”

“And I would be embarrassed.”

“I could make you forget everything, Dale.”

“That is nothing new, my love. You do that on a daily basis.” The tall woman just smiled. Her teeth were on full view from the grin plastered on her face. “And you know it!”

“Of course, chérie. I have a reputation to uphold, have I not?”

“You have nothing to prove to me, Françoise. I love all of you, including the troublemaker and the seductress. But…,” Dale nudged the woman to sit up. “…but, now reality awaits.”

“Real –ti?”

“It’s another word to add to that list, huh? It means real life. It’s time for us to go back on deck and join the others.”

Françoise stood and adjusted her accoutrements before collecting her boots. She took a moment to collect the coin sack sitting on the table, much lighter from its recent use, and place it in the trunk. The empty flasks sat there forgotten. “Damn…”

The muttering drew Dale’s attention. “What?”

“I had forgotten these.” Françoise held up a number of small wooden bottles strung together on one tether line. “I meant to ask Lucette to fill them before we sail.”

“Maybe the blacksmith would oblige. Why do we need these?”

“If something happens…”

“In case of an emergency?”

“Em-merge?”

“Emergency… if something goes wrong.”

“Oui, em-merge. Now it is time.” Françoise escorted her wife out the door, one hand resting on the small of her partner’s back while the other held the empty bottles.

* * *

“Monsieur Rumkey!”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“When do we sail?”

The First Mate looked at the sun’s position in the sky. “Mid-afternoon, monsieur.”

“Where can I fill these?” Françoise held up the bottles.

“Our supplies are below deck. I can get one of the crew to fill them…”

“Non, Rumkey. There will barely be enough for the journey.”

“In that case, there is a well near the markets.”

“Merci, monsieur. Do I have time to carry out such a task?”

“We still have to clear the deck and stow the cargo. There is more than enough time.” He turned his back for a moment. “Henri!”

“Wait!” Her hand rested on his bony shoulder. “Sébastien!”

The mountain of a man trundled over to the duo. “Oui, Philippe?”

“Would you accompany me to the well near the markets?”

“Of course.”

Françoise had not planned to leave Dale alone but she was standing with the women on the upper deck. While not actively taking part in the conversation, she was in the general vicinity and in relative safety. “Dale!”

“Yes, my husband!” Dale moved briskly to the stairs to meet her wife half-way.

“Sébastien and I are going to the well at the markets. Stay here.”

“But… you get to see everything!” Dale was not amused.

“Please, chérie, do not argue with me. Stay here where it is safe.”

“This will be my only chance…”

“Non.” The sternness of the word made Dale jump. “It is too dangerous.”

“And it isn’t for you?”

“I am the man of this family.”

“Only by default.”

“De-fault. Please, do not confuse me now.” Françoise was getting a headache. Dale was using words she didn’t know. “You do not play fair.”

“Well, I’m not the one wearing the pants now, am I?”

“You do indignant so well, mon amour.” She kissed her lover on the cheek then whispered in her ear. “Here… take this…” The pistol suddenly materialized in Dale’s hand and she hid it in the folds of her dress. “In case of em-merge.”

“Emergency.”

“Oui… as you say.”

Dale sighed deeply. Françoise seemed to be winning all the arguments on a regular basis. If she didn’t win one or two soon she would never get to go anywhere or see anything. “Alright, but just this once. Next time you take me.”

“I promise.” But she knew that was a promise she could not keep. At least not yet.

Françoise bounded down the stairs to the gangplank. “Sébastien, are you sure you remember the way?”

“Oui, Philippe. It is just a matter of going down that street. It is no more than a few minutes.”

“Good. Rumkey, we will not be long. Perhaps thirty minutes. Do not leave without us.” She grinned at the sprightly man organizing the men and supplies.

“Very well, monsieur.” He grinned back, his yellowing teeth visible except for an obviously missing side tooth.

“Come on.” The wooden plank began to sway as the two of them disembarked, the weight of the blacksmith lending to the bounce in their steps. It felt strange to be on dry land. Françoise could feel herself lurch in anticipation of the sway of the ship, but there was nothing there. It took some concentration not to stagger and look like some drunken fop.

She followed the big man down the dusty street towards the sounds and smells of the local food market. While it was within her power to just help herself to the water, Françoise felt it was proper to ask permission. After much hand signaling she found her man and reverently asked him for water. He was touched by her obvious show of respect and so offered not only the water but some food as well.

Françoise had learned from Dale about catching the bees with honey thing and she was glad that she chose that path today. She didn’t need any more enemies than she already had, and she knew she had her hands full with the Captain.

They partook the finger foods, including something their host called makrout, a sweet pasty stuffed with figs and honey. Françoise drank her tea in relative silence, enjoying the Arabian flavors that teased their taste buds. As much as she wanted to experience more time was short. As diplomatically as possible Françoise begged to be excused, detouring to the well and taking their fill. The precious liquid spilled over the bottles, dripping back into the well so that not a drip was wasted. The heat would make water an expensive commodity in this land. It was nearly as precious as the slaves themselves, or maybe even more so.

As they wandered along the stalls, Françoise glanced in fascination at the variety of produce that was available, wondering what the cook had bought. Her taste buds sharpened at the thought of more exotic meals to come, as long as Honorine didn’t kill the taste first.

The blacksmith had been quiet for a while, letting his companion absorb the sights and sounds that were so foreign to them both. But his curiosity got the better of him. “Why did you do that? We could have taken the water.”

“I do not know. It just felt…right…to do so.” Françoise was lost in her own musings and did not notice the strange look Sébastien gave her. “What a strange thought…,” she mumbled.

It took moments for the situation to sink in as they approached the dock area. Orders were being yelled and the sound of winches shifting could be heard. “Oh no, he would not dare…” Françoise’s footsteps picked up speed, feeling the burly blacksmith dogging her every step. “That…that…whoreson…of… a…pig!” Dale would be proud of her colorful expletive.

The gangplank had already been hauled aboard and the docking ropes removed. The ship had barely moved inches from the dock but it was drifting away with every passing second. “Captain!” She yelled at the figure standing on the upper deck and saw the grin of triumph on his face. “What are you doing?” It was a stupid question. Of course she knew what he was doing. He was ridding himself of the one person who would stand up to him.

A length of rope appeared over the side, swinging precariously out from the hull. She was nudged in the back by Sébastien, his head nodding towards the rope. “But I cannot leave you here…,” she pleaded.

“Go. She needs you more than I do.”

“I will return.” Before she had time to think she ran towards the edge of the dock, her long legs striding until she was at a full run. With a leap of faith, the tall woman launched herself off the dock and over the water, extending her long body to gain every inch of air she could to grab the rope. Her forward motion was stopped with a thud as she slammed into the hull. The pain she diverted into her hate of the Captain, feeding it like a starving lion. He was a dead man.

* * *

Dale watched her wife go, wishing that she was already back from her little journey. She was so lonely and never felt more out of place than standing near a group of women babbling in French while watching black slaves being forcibly manhandled up onto a ship sailing into hell. She could not watch either so she turned her attention to the dock, finding small comfort in watching the children play.

For some reason the Captain seemed to be in a hurry, pushing his men into a scrambling run to accomplish his orders. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. Would he be so foolish as to leave without all the passengers? The gangplank appeared on the deck. Yes, he would.

Françoise and Sébastien came into view as the ropes were pulled on board. “Captain!” Her lover’s voice was strong and clear… and pissed. “What are you doing?” Dale sensed the urgency in those words and she was not going to let her lover be left behind.

She moved the few feet to where he stood, overlooking the lower deck imperiously. The man really was a tyrant. “Captain!” What could she say? She moved her head from side to side vigorously but he just laughed at her. But that laugh faded as the pistol in her hand found its way to his temple. She spared a moment to cast a glance sideways but her lover had disappeared. A moment later there was a bang against the ship. What was that?

* * *

By no mean feat Françoise slowly pulled herself up the dangling rope. No one came to her aid and she was left to haul herself aboard. Her arms felt like jelly and shook uncontrollably at the strain, and it was something she hoped she didn’t have to repeat any time soon. It took all her strength to pull herself over the railing, leaving her to fall unceremoniously to the deck. Her head dropped between her spread legs as her bottom sat in a puddle of water. She didn’t care.

Once the shaking had stopped her eyes rose and blazed a path to the source of her ire. There stood her Dale with a pistol at the head of the Captain. Her heart burst with pride knowing that her little American would protect her no matter what. “I will assume Captain that you did not know that we had not returned.” But no one believed her, not even herself. “Now, return to the dock and pick up Monsieur Baptiste!” She said it forcefully so that he understood it was not a request.

Reluctantly he agreed, yelling out orders to return to the dock. As the plank was lowered, Françoise’s eyes sought out Rumkey’s. He gave her a friendly wink in acknowledgement. So, he was her guardian angel. She tilted her head in thanks and turned her attention to the arrival of the blacksmith. “Ahhh, welcome aboard, monsieur,” she remarked jovially, slapping him on the back as he passed.

“Good to be back, Philippe. I did not fancy living here.”

“I am sure, just as you were not expecting to be taking a sea voyage.” As the ship slipped away from its berth Françoise made eye contact with her nemesis, pouring every ounce of menace she could into that one look. Her point made she sought out Dale, who had backed away and was standing near the railing. Thank you, ma chérie. A dip of the head put a smile on her face. Now the woman could read her thoughts.

* * *

“I thought I had lost you there for a moment.”

“You should know, chérie, that it would take more than that man to stop me from getting to you.”

“I know.” Françoise felt a shiver run through her soul when Dale spoke. It was as if someone else had spoken the words, someone who held their destiny in his, or her, capable hands. There was a finality in those words that spoke a hidden truth.

“Come…” The French woman guided her partner to their cabin in silence. So much had happened that day and she would be glad to see the end of it.

* * *

Chapter 6

For the next two days Françoise stayed out of the way of the Captain, not wishing to cause a confrontation that she knew would most certainly arise. Despite the despicable acts he had been responsible for, the man himself just annoyed the hell out of her. He was totally unlikable and no amount of physical contact was going to change that.

* * *

The fort town of Ouidah came into view but there appeared to be no docks. The anchor hit the water with a harsh splash.

“Monsieur Rumkey!”

“Oui, monsieur?” The wiry man looked up from his work. He didn’t stop this time, instead prepared to carry on the conversation while he carried out his duties.

“Why are we stopped here?”

“As you can see, monsieur, there are no docks. We weigh anchor here and the…err… ‘cargo’ is transported to us by rowboat.”

The bustle of activity continued on the deck. The existing cargo was shifted around to make room for the ‘cargo’ they were about to accept. Cargo… it was such a cold word for humans. Françoise took a moment at the railing to look at the human cargo slowly coming into view. Huddled in a group were the slaves. If she had to guess from the number of boats there were perhaps forty to fifty people of all ages, male and female, and more adult than child. A white woman and a baby sitting on her lap drew her attention.

The slaves clumsily boarded the vessel, dazed but not confused about what was expected of them. They stood on the deck listlessly, for the moment accepting their fate. Françoise had heard stories of slave ships. It was not uncommon for vessels to lose one third of their human cargo to malnutrition, disease and insurrection. Now she could see why. Fifty humans were stored in what was nothing more than a hole. Knowing the Captain as she did, perhaps insurrection was not the correct word. It was more like mistreatment. He did not care one way or the other how they arrived at St. Domingue.

“Come on you lot!” The crack of the whip cut through her, the closeness of it screeching in her ears. “Move, or I will flay the skin off your bodies!” The Captain stood by smirking at the distress of his cargo. They did not understand the words but they understood the whip. A lesson learned with great pain and suffering.

The woman and child passed by her on their way below. She was definitely pale but she looked odd for a white woman, possessing the broad nose and slightly pronounced brow ridge of her fellow slaves, which led Françoise to believe that she was, in fact, partly black. She would have to ask the First Mate the next chance she got.

Françoise felt her anger rise, letting it settle in her eyes as she met those of the Captain. The smile slowly slipped from his face as she glared at him, showing her displeasure with a snarl.

“Monsieur Rumkey!” the Captain bellowed, “Set sail!”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Six weeks on a small vessel with nearly one hundred people on it. Françoise wondered if she would survive it.

* * *

Dale stared at the scrawling mess that sat on the sheet of paper. It looked like two chickens had danced across the page in some manic mating ritual. The quill twirled idly in her hand as she considered her options. Writing with pen and ink was a lot harder than she imagined and it was going to take some practice to avoid dropping the liberal blobs of ink in future.

She was having second thoughts about her twentieth-century dictionary for Françoise. What if it fell into someone else’s hands? What would history make of that discovery? No, it was probably better that this particular lesson be learnt verbally. Instead, she would put it towards a more cathartic use.

Ripping out the damaged page, she bent her head towards the paper and applied the nib lightly.

Day Eight

A wayward tongue stuck out of Dale’s mouth, twisting upward at the side of her lips, as she wrote…

I’m not sure what I should write here. I had a diary when I was a teenager but this journal is something completely new to me. No more talk of boyfriends or nosey mothers. Do I just report the facts or my opinion of them? I’ll play it by ear and write whatever pops into my head. Heh… that could be a dangerous thing. Maybe it’s just as well as I can barely understand my own writing at this point. I hope my penmanship improves…

Her head rose at the arrival of her lover. “Do you have that list yet, chérie?” Françoise looked over her shoulder to study the words. “That does not look like it.” She didn’t have the heart to tell the blonde that her writing was atrocious.

“I’m not used to pen and ink.”

“Hmmmm…. I can see that…”

“Stop iiiittt,” she whined. The last thing Dale wanted was her partner pointing out her shortcomings. She could manage that all by herself.

“Come…” Françoise spent the rest of the day instructing Dale in the use of the troublesome writing utensil, made all the more harder by the sway of the ship. When she felt she could adequately manipulate it, she left her to do… well, whatever she was trying to do.

As the light faded in the cabin, Dale gave up any further attempts at her journal and joined her aristocrat on the deck to watch the sun slowly sink into the sea.

* * *

“Dale, will you please stop moving around.” Françoise had a wriggling child in her arms. Dale just refused to lie still, tossing and turning every few seconds in an effort to find a comfortable position.

“I can’t help it, Philippe. It’s way too early for me to sleep.”

“It is for me too, chérie, but I do not complain.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“I told you why we cannot have the lantern alight. Both the Captain and the First Mate told you why. Even Lucette told you why.”

“But I couldn’t…”

“…understand them, I know. A flame on a wooden ship is not good.” Françoise smiled. She could imagine the huffy look on Dale’s face, acting like a petulant child being chided by grownups.

“Well, unless you can distract me, I will continue to twist and turn. So there!” The words came out in a harsh whisper.

“Philippe, will you just kiss the woman and let the rest of us get some sleep.” Lucette’s amused voice filled the couple’s ears.

Françoise chuckled. “If that’s what you want, tantine.” Before Dale could ask, she covered the blonde’s lips with her own, kissing her vigorously and at great length.

* * *

Dale awoke to the gentle sway of the vessel. It was still taking her some time to get used to everything moving, despite nearly a week at sea. Her arms were empty, as they had been since they left Ouidah, her lover seeking solace on the deck as the sun rose. She had made a habit of getting up and opening her diary to re-read her entry from the day before. The letters were still chicken scratch but at least they weren’t dancing. It was more a slow shuffle across the page and nearly legible. She sighed. This small task was showing her the enormity of her new life. It looked like she would have to re-learn to walk before she could run.

* * *

Dale found Françoise standing at the railing staring out to sea. The blonde handed over a couple of sea biscuits to the brunette for breakfast, now the standard fare once the fresh food ran out. Honorine was preparing some gruau as well, but these hard bricks of wheat were the basis of meals on the high seas.

“These have got to be the most tasteless things I have ever eaten!” Dale’s nose wrinkled up in distaste.

“Chérie, you say that every morning.”

“And until we reach land, I will probably continue to say it. These are hard as rock.” Dale struck the biscuit against the railing to illustrate her point. “That’s if I can get my teeth into it.”

“You can just always not eat it.”

“But I’m hungry.” A dark eyebrow rose, adding a certain amount of cockiness to the sly smile of the French woman. “Alright, alright, I know. Shut up and eat…”

“I would never say such a thing, mon cœur.” But she certainly thought it.

“It looks like it’ll be another nice day, thank goodness.” Dale looked past her partner to Violette hanging over the railing. “Those herbs don’t look like they helped.”

Françoise looked over her shoulder at the young prostitute. “What do you suggest?”

“I don’t know a lot about herbal remedies. Maybe we could try a combination.”

“Let us hope we do not make her sicker.”

“Hmmm….” Dale watched a deep frown cross Françoise’s brow. “Just ignore him.”

“I cannot. He… he…”

“He pisses you off, I know.”

“Peesses…?”

“Piss you off… make you angry. Another one of those annoying twentieth century sayings you need to learn, my love.” Dale grinned at the stormy blue eyes and the pursed lips. She was prodding her grumpy companion a little too much this morning.

“How goes your journal?” There was something in Françoise’s voice that sounded almost wistful.

“Fine. Why?”

“No reason. I was just curious.”

“You can read it if you want to.”

“Really?”

“Sure. There’s nothing in there that I don’t want you to see.” Dale looked up shyly. “You know, if you want to you can write in it too. There are plenty of pages to spare.”

“Hmmmm.” Françoise thought about it but she had given the book to Dale to use.

“Please,” she whispered. “This is our journey, so it will be our journal. I want to know all about you. Who you are. What you think. What you feel.”

The tall French woman leaned on the rail, her attention returning to the sea. “I…”

“What?” Dale could see that her lover wanted to ask something.

“You know all my secrets.” A hand lay on top of her arm and patted her gently. “But I know nothing about you.”

“Well, you met my parents.”

“Which only left more questions than answers.” Indeed, she had met Dale’s parents and knew why the woman left home, but it did not explain who she was.

“Alright. What do you want to know?” But the mischievous look in those sparkling blue eyes made her think twice about the invitation.

“Chérie, I am not going to bite. At least, not here.” She grinned. Her wife looked apprehensively out over the ocean. “Where does your family come from?”

“From Boston, but you know that.”

“Non, before… “

“You mean, in the beginning?” The dark head nodded. Dale’s eyes narrowed as her mind traveled back to her childhood, when family history became a daily ritual. The bottom line was that her mother was a first-class snob, which was ironic because it was her husband’s heritage not her own that she so jealously guarded. Her mother’s heritage was formidable in its own right but the Wincotts were thoroughbreds through and through… at least according to her mother.

“My family came to America in…in… around this time, in fact. Strange. Maybe I should look them up when we reach Boston.”

Françoise smiled. Dale had so much confidence in her ability to get them to the Colonies that she didn’t hesitate to say ‘when’. So much faith in her, and it was humbling. Her mind caught up to what her lover said. “Oh, non non non non non. That is not wise.”

“Why not? A chance to see my ancestors?” Surprised eyes turned to the woman leaning on the railing. “Wouldn’t you be interested in meeting your ancestors?”

“The future meeting the present? Do you know what you are asking? Maybe it is not meant to be, chérie.”

“But then maybe it is. Why am I here, huh?” Hurt touched those blue eyes. “Oh, no… I mean, besides finding the love of my life.”

“Is that not enough?”

“It’s enough for me, my love. But still…”

“No. Leave it alone.”

“But why? Why are you so intent on stopping me?”

“I…,” Françoise hesitated. “I…”

“Why?”

“Because I am afraid it will undo all of this! Maybe this is not in God’s plan for us.” One hand ran through the long dark locks in frustration. Françoise had a bad feeling about Dale’s wish.

“But maybe it is.” Dale could see the disappointment in the stance of her partner. She had not meant to upset her. Why was she so intent on taking away this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? “Anyway…” It was time to change the subject. “They arrived in Boston around 1795 from England. Elizabeth and Joshua Wincott. Their home still stands. In fact, we still live in it. What else…. hmmm. Joshua made his wealth in shipping.”

“Anything else?” The scant history made Françoise chuckle. “Your mother thinks she is descended from the King of England and you are barely aware of who started the empire?”

“Yeah, I know. My mother lives in a dream world.”

“Hmmm…” So many words sat on her lips, but to air her thoughts could start an argument she didn’t want to have. Let the woman have her fantasy. Her daughter and her lover knew the truth, or what truth there was. If they reached Boston maybe she could make some discreet enquiries to satisfy Dale’s curiosity. However, contact would be discouraged. She was not one to jeopardize what she had. A lifetime married to a sadist had taught her that lesson.

“You could not trace your family back any further?”

“No…,” Dale sighed as her vision took in the expanse of water. “Strange, isn’t it? You would think there would be some evidence of Wincotts in England prior to their arrival in America.”

“Maybe their name changed.”

“I was thinking that too, but from what?”

“I do not know, chérie. Only they could answer that.”

“Hmmm…” The breeze blew the blonde tendrils hanging around her petite face. “My mother would have a fit if they turned out to be thieves or something.” Dale laughed loudly. “I would love to be there if that happened.” She sobered. “Probably not going to happen now…”

“You never know, Dale. You never know.” Silence settled over the two women, content to stand at the railing and absorb the majesty of the open sea. Long tapered fingers entwined with smaller ones, taking comfort from the simple contact. They were together and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Lucette and the girls had managed to keep out of Françoise’s way, which was curious considering the ship was slightly over one hundred feet long. But this morning she decided to make a point to seek them out. She inwardly laughed. Seek them out. She only had to take half a dozen steps. The women stood in a circle around a lone crewman sitting at an empty barrel. He was playing some game with cards and amusing his observers. They clucked and shifted around the cards like a gaggle of hens waiting to catch the first worm of the day.

The tall woman sidled up next to her friend and murmured in her ear, “What has you all so amused?”

Lucette jumped, her hand resting over her rapidly beating heart. “Do not do that! You will kill me.” The older woman closed her eyes as she tried to slow her racing body. She had not seen the woman, even out of the corner of her eye, and the unexpected arrival sent a shock through her body.

“I have not talked to you, tantine.”

“Well, you and your…wife… seemed busy, ma chérie.”

“Not too busy for you.” Françoise smiled benevolently at the smaller woman.

“Ahhh, I see. Then I could enter the Captain’s cabin whenever I choose, eh?”

“Most of the time, oui.” The smile widened to a full grin “What sort of example would we set for your girls if we were there all the time?”

“My girls?”

“Tantine…” Now that the subject had been broached, it was time for a serious discussion. “I…” Françoise gulped loudly. It was not her place to tell the madam how to run her business, but some restraint was needed to avoid conflict. “It is probably best for your girls not to…”

“Look for work?” Lucette laughed at the uncomfortable stance of the aristocrat, made even more laughable by the manly disguise she had been resorted to wearing.

“Oui. We want to avoid any more trouble.”

“Philippe, I think the Captain is more worried about you than he is about us.”

“But we do not want any fights on board.”

“You think that will happen?”

“Men and women together, and then sex as well? It is a certainty.”

“Some may not like it.”

“I am sure. That is why Dale and I have agreed to show some restraint.”

“Restraint?” Lucette chuckled long and hard. “Is that what it is called?”

“Tantine, please. We need to agree upon this.”

“It may already be too late, little one. One or two of them have already struck up a friendship.”

Françoise inwardly cursed for not keeping a closer eye on her charges. She had meant to approach Lucette about the matter earlier but she had been consumed with her own problems. Maybe it was already too late.

“All we can do is ask them to refrain from… you know.”

“Oui, I know. Even if you cannot say it.”

“I can say it… I just choose not to.”

“Fine, my little lamb.” Lucette could feel her insides curl up in warmth as Françoise’s bottom lip found its way under her front tooth. It was so endearing to see a glimpse of the shy little girl she knew hid inside.

“I can. It does not frighten me.”

“I did not say that it did.”

“Tantine. It is not something one discusses with one’s family.” A wrinkled hand came up and touched her cheek. Her head dropped a little to shift her eyes from the ones boring into her soul. “You were more of a mother than my own ever was.”

“I know, chérie, I know. We have been through a lot together, you and I. Most of it was bad but we survived it. It made us stronger. It bonded us together. It made us… a family.”

“That it did, tantine. That it did.”

* * *

Françoise’s blood was boiling.

“Why do you torment yourself like this?” Dale knew where those piercing blue eyes were focused.

“Where else do I have to go? It is either here or the cabin. I cannot help where my eyes wander.”

“Well… yeah, you can. It’s your mind and your eyes. You can tell them to go to hell if you want.” To Françoise it was like a toothache. She had to worry at it even though it was painful to do so.

“But… look at him.”

“Philippe, I don’t wish to. He’s a piece of shit and I’d rather look at my mother. That’s how bad I don’t want to look at him.”

The person in question stood arrogantly on the upper deck, looking down at the crowded deck overflowing with slaves and crew. For a short while each day the slaves were allowed to stand on deck, one small group at a time, and get some fresh air, cleansing the fetid smell out of their lungs.

Françoise studied them. While most of them were huddled against the hull, a small group of men stood apart from them. The gruel they had been fed was eagerly consumed as if it were their last meal. Maybe it was. Knowing the Captain, he could kill them just on a whim if he so desired, and what she had seen of him so far it was a distinct possibility.

The five men stood proud and tall, their skin gleaming with sweat from the enclosed confinement in the hold. They look surprisingly fit for slaves, not emaciated from months of imprisonment. Françoise wondered how they came to be on this ship because the familiarity they shared suggested they had known each other for some time. Interesting…

Her eyes moved to the woman and her child sitting away from the group. “Monsieur Rumkey!” Françoise called the First Mate away from his meal.

“Oui, monsieur? What may I do for you?”

“That woman…,” she indicated the young girl, “Why do they treat her so?”

“Because the blacks claim that she is white and the whites claim that she is black. She is neither one nor the other.”

“How so?”

“Cross-breeding, monsieur. Black mother and a white father. After two or three generations the child is almost white, not quite but almost.”

“That is a sad tale.”

“I suppose so, monsieur.”

“So what will happen to her?”

“She will be a difficult sale. There is never any dispute of ownership if the slave is black. He is black so therefore he is a slave. White people are not normally considered as slaves, therefore his ownership could be brought into question.”

“Then why capture her as a slave at all if any profit is questionable?”

“There is always the chance that someone will buy her… for other reasons.”

“Other reasons, Rumkey?” He did not answer but raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh…” Now she understood. “So the circle continues…,” she mumbled, studying the young mother breast feeding the young child while she ate her meal. At the end she tentatively stuck her finger into the gruel and finger fed the baby. It was a tender scene in the midst of such horror and degradation, tugging at Françoise’s heart strings. It was the one thing that her gender had been born to provide, and it was the one thing she could not do.

Uncertainly, her eyes turned downward to her partner. The baby had not gone unnoticed by the blonde either. A gentle smile crossed her lips at the baby’s antics. Françoise could not stop the single tear from sliding down her cool cheek.

“Don’t cry, my love.”

“I do not cry.” Her voice faltered as her hand came up to wipe away the wetness.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Fault?”

“I know what you’re thinking, Philippe.” Dale put her finger under the tucked chin and lifted it. “I know we may never have children.”

“You can have children.”

“I know, but who is going to be brave enough to father them?” Dale was pleased to see those shapely lips tip slightly. “Would you let a man come between you and me?” The smile widened. “I thought so.” She leaned in closer to the warm body next to her. “We have each other. That will be enough.”

“Oui… enough.” Françoise’s voice faded off into the wind.

The bloodied whip hung in her limp hand. “Please, my husband, she can stand no more.”

“Again,” he whispered.

“But…”

“Again!” he yelled. “I will tell you when she has had enough.”

Reluctantly, the whip sliced through the air, landing on the screaming whore’s back. Françoise cast her gaze at her husband, visibly repulsed by his look of gratification at the poor woman’s suffering.

“Are you okay?” Françoise’s reverie was disrupted by a hand on her arm.

“There you are young pup.” Honorine grumpily shoved two rough-hewn bowls at them, nearly dropping them when the two women were slow to respond. The cook turned on her heel and walked away without another word, drawing quiet chuckles from behind her back.

Dale was content to just hold the warm bowl in her cold hands, allowing the heat to seep into joints that hadn’t felt warmth for some time. “What I wouldn’t give to feel warm again. An hour. Just one hour.” Her finger dipped into the lumpy mixture, catching a piece on the pad and slipping it into her mouth. “Hey… that’s not bad.”

“Oui, honey and a touch of…”

“… cinnamon, if I’m not mistaken. How does she do that?”

“Do not complain, chérie. Be thankful that she is a good cook.”

“I am…,” Dale’s eyes dropped to the biscuit. “…believe me I am.” Greedily, she ate the porridge, enjoying the feel of the hot food sliding down her throat to settle warmly in her stomach. It was just what she needed. But she made the mistake of looking up from her meal at the woman and child, cowering in the corner to find some warmth. Dale again looked at her bowl, her appetite gone on the wind.

“Where are you going?” Her spoon was half-way to her mouth when her wife walked away. Porridge dropped spasmodically from the hovering spoon back into the bowl as she watched her wife kneel in front of the white woman.

“Hello there,” Dale whispered as she hunkered down on the deck. Suspiciousness and apprehension emanated from the young woman eyeing her. Carefully, she handed over her bowl to the mother, nodding and pushing the bowl into shaking hands. “For you and your child.” Green eyes studied the baby. Dale couldn’t help but smile at the cute little boy. “Awwww, aren’t you adorable.” Her voice was soft and soothing, drawing a shy smile from the young child. “Yes, you are.” Cautiously she extended a finger for the baby to grab, her eyes alternating between the baby and the mother. “I mean no harm.” The young child held on tightly, giggling as Dale jiggled her finger up and down.

“Monsieur!” The harsh guttural sound from the Captain cut through the air.

Françoise looked up from watching her partner play with the baby. The scowl on the Captain’s face delivered a message stronger than if he had yelled at her. “Dale. Enough.”

As much as Dale wanted to stay, she obeyed her husband without question, returning to his side quickly. Once she was out of range, the mother placed the child on the deck and began to eat the porridge, occasionally dipping her finger into it to feed the boy.

“I do not think our Captain is amused, chérie.”

“Well, it was my porridge to do with as I wished. No child should go hungry.”

It was a noble sentiment. “Still… it will be better not to do that again.”

Dale knew that she was being scrutinized by the Captain, and probably not in a nice way. He had given her frank looks ever since she had boarded the vessel, and even standing next to her husband had not changed that look. “He gives me the creeps.”

“The… creeps?”

“When he looks at me it’s like he’s undressing me with his eyes.”

“He probably is.” Françoise directed her gaze at the Captain, telling him in no uncertain terms that her woman was taken. And she was not inclined to share her… with anyone. “She is mine, old man,” she muttered, drawing a quiet chuckle from her companion. But his eyes turned to the mother and child.

“Captain! This was my wife’s doing, not the slave’s.”

“Do not assume to know what I am thinking, monsieur.” He trundled down the stairs to stand face to face with the troublemaker. “These are my slaves, monsieur. They are none of your business.”

“Your slaves, Captain?”

“Do no play this game with me, monsieur. I would suggest you tell that harlot of yours…” The words died in his throat as two large hands encircled his windpipe, slowly squeezing the life out of him.

“Let us pray you do not utter those words again… Captain.” She shook him violently. “My wife was showing a little kindness, nothing more.”

Rumkey approached quickly, trying to pull Françoise off the squat man. “Please, monsieur. Stop! You are going to kill him!”

“Anyone who insults my wife deserves nothing less…” Flashes of blue fire leapt from her eyes, seeking out the source of her ire.

“Philippe… please.” That soft melodic voice was a soothing balm.

“But… he called you…”

“Then it’s just as well I don’t understand French, isn’t it?”

“But I do, and I will not tolerate anyone calling you…”

“No, I don’t want to know. Now, let him go.”

The swarthy Captain had vainly tried to claw at the two hands slowly throttling the air out of him. Anger and indignation lent strength to those fingers, digging into soft flesh in search of his life. Just when he thought he would meet his Maker, the pressure lessened until the hands were removed. “You have made a dangerous enemy, monsieur. Give me a reason why I do not toss you overboard.”

“For one, Captain, I know you will miss all that coin if we do not arrive at St. Domingue.” Françoise knew she had hit his Achilles heel with that comment. He was an avaricious bastard, of that she was sure.

“But I have to decide whether it is worth the coin I will lose to be rid of you.” Françoise did not flinch at the threat. It was a hollow one, and she knew it.

“Philippe. Is there a problem?” Sébastien’s arrival was timed to perfection.

“I do not know, my friend. Is there a problem, Captain?” She smiled wickedly at the beet-red face of her tormenter. When no sound came out, she spoke on his behalf. “Non, Sébastien. It looks like the Captain and I have reached an agreement.” Her demeanor turned serious. “And that includes no retribution against the woman and child. Understood?”

The captain stomped off, angry that he had to back down in front of his crew. Françoise took a deep breath. “Thank you, Sébastien. I think the Captain saw my point of view.”

“I do not think it was wise, Philippe.”

“Non. It was not wise.” She shook her head. “This was to be a nice quiet voyage.”

“You cannot help that pig of a man’s manners.”

“True. I think I will not be getting any sleep from now on.” She was exhausted now. Another four weeks of little sleep and she will be cranky as all hell.

“All you have to do is ask, Philippe.” The gentle giant patted Françoise on the shoulder, buffeting it hard and sending her off balance. “Sorry…”

“Do not apologize, my friend. It is nice to know that I have a strong arm at my side if the need arises.” She looked past him to Lucette and her group. The older woman was studying the blacksmith with interested eyes. “Now… I think you may like to join the ladies.” His eyes slipped over his shoulder to the gaggle of women, his lips tilting up to a smile as he found Lucette.

“Excusez-moi.”

“Of course.”

“You better stop that.”

“Pardon?”

“Playing matchmaker are we?”

“I would do no such thing.” Françoise tried to sound indignant but failed miserably. How could Dale do it so perfectly?

“Monsieur. I do not think the Captain is happy with you.”

Françoise thought that was a gross understatement. In his present mood she could easily be keel-hauled in the blink of an eye. “Non, he is not, Rumkey.”

“So, should I start calling you ‘Captain’ now?” he chuckled, laughing even harder when she sputtered at the comment.

“I am just trying to protect the innocent, Rumkey.”

“Innocent?”

“My wife, and the mother and her child. They did nothing wrong, Rumkey, except accept what my wife gave them, nothing more. I do not trust him to keep his word.”

The First Mate said nothing, and in doing so silently agreed with her. But he would never voice his thoughts about the Captain. He was not in a position to do so.

“And I will never be the Captain!” she said vehemently. “That is mutiny, Rumkey. I may not know much about the sea but I do know that.”

“Aye, Monsieur Théroux. But you have the Captain worried.”

“Well, tell him he has nothing to worry about. I have no interest in his position. I am only interested in protecting what is mine.”

“And the mother and child? Are you claiming them?” He waited amusedly while she gulped loudly.

“Of course not, monsieur, I have enough trouble with my wife. Why would I increase my aggravation?”

“No reason, monsieur. No reason at all.”

“However…” Françoise couldn’t help but put a provision on her statement. “If he feels a need to vent his anger on someone…”

“Do not worry, monsieur. I will seek you out if he crosses the line.”

Crosses the line… Françoise now knew at what point Rumkey would intervene, and it wouldn’t be before a lash or two had been given. Realistically, she shouldn’t intervene either. She had overstepped her position as a passenger a number of times, so the Captain was within his rights to throw her overboard. But she wouldn’t go willingly if he ever tried. The only thing in her favor was the enticement of money at the end of the voyage.

* * *

The two women took refuge in their cabin, determined to leave their troubles behind them, at least for a short while. After the disturbance earlier, Dale had agreed to a system with Lucette. Hanging from the door handle was a piece of cloth, their arranged signal for the room being… occupied, designed to save some embarrassment to whoever got caught.

Françoise finally figured out the little pieces of wood she obtained back at Nantes, kicking one wedge in place under the door. If anyone tried to disturb them he would have to make a new door.

“Now, come.” Françoise pulled the blonde gently until they were lying together on the bunk. “Let us use what little time we have.”

“I told you about that.”

“But we have the… the… rag you put on the door.”

“The ‘do not disturb’ sign?”

“The… what?” Françoise thought about that. It was certainly no sign but the message was the same. “Oui. We are safe… for now.”

“But….”

“Non, mon amour.” The brunette placed a chaste kiss on her lover’s available neck. “Now…,” another kiss, “…you…” and another, slowly working her way down to an enticing collarbone, “…are…” gentle suction attached her lips to the pulse point, “…mine.” With the final word Françoise gently bit down, tasting the salty sweetness of love.

“I certainly am.” The words were exhaled on a sigh as the French woman claimed what was hers. She was right. They would have precious little time together on this voyage. Carpe diem…

* * *

Françoise sat at the Captain’s desk, her head bent over the empty page of the journal. She looked up from her work to observe her sleeping lover and smiled. It was at moments like these that she looked her most innocent… and most youthful. The French woman knew Dale’s real age but looking at her now she so could easily pass for someone seven or eight years younger. A snort escaped her. Cradle snatcher…

The nib dipped into the ink pot before being gently tapped on the edge…

Day Sixteen

I have once again made the Captain mad. Dale gave one of the slaves some porridge and he objected. I know he is within his rights to do so but he seems to want them to suffer as much as possible. It is in his nature. It…

Françoise stopped suddenly. She had intended to write, ‘it broke my heart to see my wife playing with the baby’, but Dale would read it and be upset. The feather idly wandered over her cheek as she thought.

It… he reminds me of Le comte and I think that is why he irks me so. Maybe that is why I spoil his plans at every turn. I now have the control. I am able to be the mistress of my own destiny. I can be me.

Françoise slumped back in the chair shocked. She re-read what she had written and the disclosure was very revealing indeed. Now it all made sense and she felt liberated. It didn’t solve the problem of the Captain’s behavior but at least she now understood her own actions. She smiled. And, of course, it was the right thing to do…

She wrote for a little while longer, trying to put her own perspective on the events she knew Dale would enter in her own inimitable style later. A quiet moan drew her away from her musings to the bed, her partner rolling over restlessly. The blanket fell away, exposing the soft flesh she had feasted on earlier. Her eyes flickered to the door, anxiously waiting for someone to enter at a moment’s notice.

Françoise stood and moved to the trunk, reaching for the key around her neck. Inside she found the bolt of linen that Dale had used for her underpants and tore off a piece. Sparingly, she spilled some of the precious water out of one of the water bottles onto the cloth, lathering it up with one of Dale’s bars of soap.

On the bunk lay the woman she loved with all her heart, naked and innocent as the day she was born. But in Françoise’s mind Dale’s innocence was a matter of perspective. In the height of passion the woman was anything but innocent, a sex-crazed she devil that would devour her at a moment’s notice. That brought another smile to her face. Who would have thought Dale was a sensual nymph?

The first time she saw her in the mirror the little blonde was in every sense of the word ‘innocent’. Looking no more than a child, the woman stared as if seeing sex for the first time then hid herself away from it. But it was the hunger that brought her back time and again.

“Hey,” the soft lilting voice struck a chord within Françoise’s heart. No, it was that intangible thing that tied their souls together… it was love.

“Hello.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just watching you.”

“Why? Have I got something nasty growing on me or something?”

“Not at all. Everything is where it should be, chérie.” Françoise approached the bunk, raising the damp cloth as she did so.

“What’s that for?”

“Just lay still, ma chérie, and let me pamper you.”

“Pamper? Oooo, that sounds interesting…” The moment the cloth hit her skin she reacted. “Shit! That’s cold!”

“Sorry… I had no hot water.” But Françoise continued to slide the soapy cloth over the skin. “Do you wish me to stop?” she whispered.

“Hell no!” The goose bumps eventually subsided, replaced by a subtle warmth where the cloth had touched her. It was a slow seduction wrapped up in loving care. Dale watched her lover work, sliding the cloth over every inch of skin in an effort to remove the sweat and the smell. It was a touching scene. “Why?”

“Why?” Deep blue eyes narrowed as the skin around them crinkled up in warmth. “Because I love you.”

Dale allowed her hand to reach for the shadowed face above her, cupping the firm chin gently. “And I love you too.” A sly smile touched her lips. “Will you marry me?”

Françoise threw back her head and laughed. “Really?”

“It’s my turn to ask. I think it’s only fair.”

The brunette finally finished her job and pulled up the discarded blanket around the shivering body. “I think it is time to get dressed.”

“So, is that a ‘no’?”

“How could you say that, chérie?”

“Because you didn’t answer my question?” Dale was miffed at her lover’s silence.

“Of course I will marry you. Have we not already agreed upon this?”

“Yeah, I suppose we have. But… but it was a question I had to ask.”

Françoise could hear the disappointment in her voice. She dropped the cloth on the table and returned to Dale’s side, dropping to one knee before taking the cool hand in her own. “I love you, Dale. Now and forever. Yes, I will marry you, whether it be here or in another life.” Reverently, she placed a kiss on the back of the blonde’s hand. Unnoticed, a single tear rolled down Dale’s cheek as she listened to the romantic declaration.

“Now…” The French woman stood, extending her hand to help her wife up from the bed. “… Get yourself dressed before you are discovered…,” her eyes shifted down the naked body in front of her, “… or you freeze to death.”

But Dale’s dressing was interrupted by the sight of the brunette stripping off her own clothes and wiping the cloth over her own body.

“What?”

“Cold, is it?” An impish smile touched Dale’s lips. “Those goose bumps are lucky bastards…,” she mumbled.

“Pardon? Did you say something?”

“Oh, no. How about you change your clothes while you’re at it, huh? And while you’re digging around in that trunk, can you toss me a new set as well?” They had reluctantly worn the same clothes for days on end in an effort to preserve both water and apparel, but enough was enough. She felt disgustingly dirty. Maybe she could bat her eyelashes and get someone to fetch some water from over the side. Fresh water from their supplies would never be given for the mere washing of clothes. It was moments like these that the twentieth century beckoned to her. What she would give for a washing machine and hot running water.

* * *

The two women emerged into the bright light of day. So far they had been lucky with the weather, most days full of bright sunshine and fair winds. The afternoon sun was slowly sinking in the west and preparation of the evening meal had started. A metal brazier stood precariously on the slow rolling ship, its hungry fire slowly being fed until it was deemed ready for cooking. The ship’s cook lifted the heavy pot on top and began adding the day’s rations to it.

Françoise couldn’t help but wince at what was in store for the crew and the poor slaves, glad that their own grumpy cook could at least make something edible. But Honorine’s turn would not come until later. The wiry old woman had finally decided to experiment with her cooking, adding small pinches of the aromatic spices she had bought in Algiers. It took a little getting used to, but now the French woman quite enjoyed the subtle changes in flavor and texture.

Only the other day Honorine attempted to make some bread rolls from their meager supplies, adding something to it that was new.

“Hmmm…,.” Dale’s lips smacked together “Sultanas.”

“Sool-tan-aaah”

“Yes. Dried grapes. Sultanas. Yum.”

“Yuuuummmm???”

“Yummy. Tasty. Nice.”

“Oui, yuuummmmeeeeeeeee…” She inwardly chuckled. Living with Dale was turning out to be quite an adventure. Françoise looked at the bread and sighed. Maybe she could open an inn and have Honorine weave her magic for the customers. That’s if she didn’t kill the woman first.

Françoise tore off a piece of the bread and surreptitiously handed it to Rumkey, delighted to see his eyes light up as the food touched his taste buds. “Oh, c'est très bon."

“I thought you would like it. Would you like some more?”

“Oh, oui monsieur.”

Françoise broke the roll in two and handed it over. Rumkey shoved the whole piece into his mouth, giving the woman a wink and went back to his work. She laughed out loud, drawing a warm glance from the First Mate. Damn, she liked the man.

* * *

Françoise’s thoughts returned to the present, her vision filled with the endless sea, her nose filled with the aroma of salt water and her mind filled with boredom.

“We have got to get you a hobby.” Dale’s melodic voice now filled her ears. Now that she could listen to for some time, but the salt and the sea she had had enough of.

“I seem to recall you said that before.”

“Yeah, but that hobby is only available at certain times. Maybe you could borrow one of Monsieur Barbineau’s books.”

“There is a book or two in the bottom of the trunk, Dale, but I am not inclined to read them.”

“How about you swap them then?”

“Swap?”

“Exchange. You give one to Monsieur Barbineau and he gives you one of his in return. You know, borrow them. Just until you have read it and then you can return it to him.”

“Hmmmm…” She had always wanted to read Marivaux again. It was worth thinking about. Alain had kept to himself most of the time but from time to time Françoise felt she had drawn the shy young man out for conversation. She realized that his snobbishness was more a defense against his shyness rather than true elitism, if his furtive glances at Rosalie were anything to go by.

“It’s a shame he doesn’t have any English ones. I could use something to read.”

“Well, chérie, if you would learn to speak French it would not be a problem.”

“And if my teacher would take the time, it wouldn’t be a problem either.” Dale grinned cheekily at her partner.

“Oui, I am guilty.” But she wouldn’t say why. Teaching Dale French always left her with a headache, the American accent painfully grinding over her fair language. “But if we reach America…”

“When we reach America,” Dale corrected.

“When we reach America there will be no need.” Françoise thought about that for a moment. “You accent will be different there too, chérie. Most people still speak English.”

“I speak English.” Dale was confused.

“Non. English… from England.”

Ahhhh… British not American. Dale didn’t think she was capable of changing her accent at this point. American was all she knew and probably all she would know to the end of her days. “Well, how about you teach me some French anyway just to pass the time.”

“Good.” But Françoise’s mind cringed at the thought. St. Domingue couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

Françoise immersed herself in Marivaux, her eyes gliding over every syllable with loving care. In the background hovered the sound of voices murmuring, laughing and arguing. The weather had finally turned foul, a steady drizzle stopping them from spending time on the deck. She sat on the floor, resting her back against the stern. She chose this particular spot so that the light from the windows would illuminate the crowded pages of her book.

A lantern swung precariously from the rafter, a monotonous squeaking annoying her as the swell gently rocked the ship. She looked up from her reading to observe the activity in the cabin. Dale’s head was bent over her journal, her tongue peeking out the side of her mouth as she wrote. A frown crossed those adorable features a second before the quill shifted angrily across the page.

Lucette and her girls, Sébastien and Alain were playing parlor games in the center of the room. It had taken some prodding to get the young man to join their group and it wasn’t until she promised to introduce him to Rosalie that he relented. Ahhh… you soft-hearted woman. As she watched the group, the young man in question threw back his head and laughed at something Rosalie had said. You were right all along.

There was a loud cough and her eyes swept back to her lover who was eyeing her suspiciously.

I was right, was I not?

Do you have to be so smug about it?

But… I was right about them.

Yes! Yes. You were right. They are perfect for each other.

Who needed to speak? Their eyes conveyed so much more than mere words. Her eyes dipped to the book once more and she lost herself in Marivaux for a while longer.

* * *

The weather returned to the warm sunny days they had been used to.

“Monsieur Rumkey!”

“Oui, monsieur?” The little man trotted over to her side.

“How far do we have to go?” She was hoping he would say tomorrow, but that was more wishful thinking on her part than actual fact.

“I cannot be exact, monsieur.”

“I know that… my friend.” She tried the words and liked it. Obviously the First Mate did too because he graced her with a full-sledged smile, showing his wide array of well worn, slightly discolored teeth.

“The Captain keeps his own counsel most of the time but if I had to guess…” He thought for a moment. Françoise saw his eyes turn out to sea and narrow, as if trying to remember how many days they had sailed already.

“Twenty-five days, Rumkey.” She laughed at his look of surprise.

He wandered off towards the wheel to talk to his compatriot. Moments later he returned. “According to the Captain, we are over half-way monsieur. Perhaps, with fair winds, ten to twelve more days and we should arrive at St. Domingue.”

Ten more days. Surely she could survive ten more days. Dale’s French was progressing slowly and painfully. Could her ears survive that long? Perhaps a diversion was needed. At that moment there was a shift in the wind and the ship, sending a crewman into a female slave and taking both of them over the side.

“Un homme à la mer!” Rumkey had surprising strength in his voice as he hollered for aid.

As Françoise stood by Dale sprung into action, grabbing an empty barrel and flinging it over the side into the water, watching as it bobbed in the swell. But the two bodies in the water were too far away to grab hold. The sailor clumsily dog paddled towards the floating wood while the slave’s panicky movements warned of an impending death.

Without thought Dale jumped overboard, drawing an agonized cry from Françoise. The tall woman ran to the railing, eagerly searching the dark green depths below the hull. “Dale!” The word tore from her throat in a garbled scream. She was unaware that she had used a name that was for the height of passion, not the light of day. Oh, chérie, what have you done? Where are you? As tempted as she was to jump right in after her, she knew she couldn’t swim. If her wife didn’t surface soon she may do that anyway just to join her in the hereafter.

A blonde head bobbed to the surface and headed towards the struggling woman.

“Turn this ship around!” Angrily she approached the helmsman, reaching for the wheel herself. “Turn around. We have to rescue them!”

“How many times do I have to remind you that this is my ship, monsieur?”

“The same amount of times it will take for you to do the right thing… Captain. Now… TURN… THE… SHIP…AROUND!”

He thought for a moment, weighing up the benefits of continuing the voyage or rescuing the people silly enough to fall overboard.

“Do not even think about it, Captain,” she growled. Her hand hovered over the rapier hanging at her side, ready to draw it and beat him into submission if needed.

“He is right, Cap’n. We have a bare minimum crew as it is. Losing one of the men will result in prolonging the voyage. And as far as the slave–”

“Rumkey, when I want your opinion I will ask for it.” With some resignation he replied, “Alright, prepare to pick them up.”

The First Mate was already in motion, barking orders quickly and efficiently. The passengers backed away as the crew literally fell over themselves to perform the maneuver.

Once the Captain had agreed, Françoise wasted no time in returning to the railing. “Oh Dale, do not leave me. Not now…” There was a hint of fear in that voice.

* * *

For the tenth time Dale cursed herself. What an idiot she had been to leap over the side. Still, she was the woman’s best chance of survival she knew that, thankful for all those swimming lessons she had been bullied into by her mother. But it wasn’t easy. The pull of the tide and the weight of her dress added to her difficulties, forcing her to dig deep for the determination to reach her victim. Stroke by stroke she inched towards the rapidly tiring woman who was barely able to keep herself above water. Finally she succumbed, forcing the blonde to dive deep to find her. The water darkened as swam down, her arms burning with each stroke. It was getting colder, biting deep in her aching bones. Just when she was about to give up her hand touched something. It was a hand but its coolness sent a shiver through her frame.

Her lungs were about to burst when she broke the water’s surface, her mouth gasping in relief as the fresh air replaced her depleted supply. Dale had to tug hard to bring the woman to the surface, the effort sending her under the water for a moment. She kicked hard to dislodge the wet cloth from around her legs. Exhaustion was calling to her, enticing her with an easier solution to the problem. Succumb…, it whispered. It is easier this way…

It would have been so easy to listen to the seductive words but she took a moment to look up to see the ship circling to return to them. Although she couldn’t make out the figures leaning over the railing she knew one of them was Françoise, begging her to live. She took heed of that silent plea and began to move her arms, one trying to pull the water and the other hanging onto the limp form she had so foolishly jumped in to rescue.

By the time she had reached the bobbing keg what energy she had had run out. The sailor had watched the rescue without so much as a word of encouragement. He held onto the wood possessively and it took a stern look on her part for him to relinquish part of it to her.

Dale just couldn’t lift the unconscious body onto the floating buoy. It was too much. Mentally she would have swum back to the ship but physically she could barely keep herself afloat. The world faded out for a time until shouting voices cut through the haze in her mind, alerting her to the ship’s arrival. It was strange. One moment she had seen the ship turn, the next it was on top of her. Exhaustion was playing tricks with her mind.

“Dale!” That word. That voice. It called to a part deep in her and she dragged her eyes skyward. “Dale! Mon Dieu, Dale!” It was a balm to her soul and food for her strength.

The sailor was already climbing the ladder to safety. “I don’t think I can make it up the ladder.” Moments later a rope appeared next to her, a loop dangling on the end. Dale tied it around the woman’s ankle, giving it a firm tug when it was secure. Slowly, the woman was lifted out of the water upside down, the water draining from her lungs as she rose to the railing. It was nerve wracking as she waited for the rope to return, her mind continuing to play tricks on her. Will they sail off without her? Will the sharks get her before she is rescued? She was not stupid. She understood that the thoughts were ridiculous but her logical mind was not working at the time. Instead, it had been replaced by a hysterical facsimile that was intent on thinking of every possible nasty thing that could happen to her.

“Dale!” The low, husky voice called to her.

“Yeah?”

“Put your foot in the loop, sweetheart.”

“’kay,” was all she could manage, accomplishing the task without thought.

Again she faded out, not acknowledging reality until Françoise talked to her. “Dale… Are you alright? Speak to me.”

“Yeah, just tired I guess.” The blonde looked around for the woman she saved. “What about the woman?” She looked up into concerned blue eyes.

“She is dead, mon cœur.”

“No… no, not now.” Dale pushed her partner aside, scrambling over to the still body. She felt for a pulse but there was none. “Don’t do this to me…” she muttered as she commenced CPR. The gasps were audible when she put her mouth over the slave’s mouth, blowing air into the vacant lungs time and again. She moved to the woman’s chest and began cardiac compression, drawing a wave of mumbling and whispering.

“Chérie, what are you doing? You are making a spectacle…”

“No… trust me.”

“But …”

“Philippe…” She took a second to look up. “Trust me.”

“Fine.” Françoise stepped back and let her lover do whatever she thought was right.

Dale continued for several minutes without success. “Come on… come on.” She was getting frustrated and she was losing hope. “Live, damn it!” She pounded the black skin in anger, sending everyone a step back from her. The body twitched in reaction, drawing Dale closer. “Come on…” Shaking fingers sought out the carotid pulse and although it was faint, it was present. The woman was alive. The chest began to rise and fall slowly, gathering strength with each breath.

Dale fell back onto her ass, her arms draped over her knees. “Mon Dieu!” There were gasps of wonder and murmurs of distrust.

“No, I am not a witch or something.” Her eyes sought out her lover. “In my time it’s common knowledge.” She looked at the Captain and saw the frown on his face. “Stop complaining. I saved your precious cargo.”

“Now, Captain, I think it is time to continue our journey.”

He gazed menacingly at the tall young man facing him as if deciding what action to take, finally turning on his heel and walking to the wheel. “Heading west, northwest.”

As soon as he left Françoise’s attention turned to her partner. “How could you do that?”

“I had to…”

“No, you did not. You could have…” She couldn’t say the word.

“Died? Don’t think that didn’t cross my mind a time or two in the water.”

“It would have killed me.”

“I wouldn’t have been too happy about it either.”

“It is not funny, chérie.”

“No,” Dale murmured. “No, it’s not. It’s deadly serious.” A cold hand reached up to cup the French woman’s face.

“Come.” Françoise helped her partner up, feeling the shivering through the cool skin. “Let us get you out of those wet clothes.”

“Any excuse, huh?” The only thing holding Dale together was the quips. Anything more serious and she would fall apart.

* * *

There was an audible sigh of relief as they reached the cabin. While it was still cool there was no biting wind to cut through her wet clothes. Dale was cold, aching and tired and in desperate need of warmth and a bed.

Françoise offered the clothes off her own body, still warm with her body heat. She rummaged through the trunk for a change of clothes when the door flung open. The aristocrat’s first reaction was to cross her arms over her chest until she realized that Lucette was alone.

“Your wife has caused quite a stir.”

“I am sure, tantine.” She continued to find her clothes, her hand resting on a knitted shawl. Barely in anything at all Françoise ignored her nakedness for the sake of her wife’s comfort, striding across the floor to wrap the shawl around shaking shoulders. “Into bed, chérie.” As the woman did so, Françoise pulled up the blankets to her chin, briskly rubbing the quivering body underneath.

“It may mean trouble.”

“Let them think what they want. That is unimportant right now.”

“Unimportant to you, but it may start a revolt.” Lucette’s concern laced her words.

“What’s… g-g-g-o-ing… o-o-n-n-n?” Dale was hard pressed to stop her teeth chattering.

“Lucette is worried about your ‘miracle’.”

“Miracle? Hah!” Dale paused as the saliva dried up in her mouth. “It was just a normal procedure.”

“Normal for 200 years in the future, mon cœur, but here it is considered witchcraft.”

“Well, tell Lucette it’s not.” And that was all the blonde said, leaving her lover to fill in the details.

“Dale says…,” Françoise prayed that she had understood correctly, “…that where she comes from it is common practice to know such matters. She lived near water. Why would they not know how to… to…” What was the word she was looking for? “…save a life?”

“Little one, I know that she is not some sort of demon, but there are others on this ship who do not know her as I do. The Captain could use this as a reason to rid himself of you… perhaps even all of us.” There was real fear in those dark eyes.

“He can try.” There was utter conviction in those two words… and a promise. Françoise would die first before the Captain would get his way. As she dressed, the brunette continued, “Talk to Monsieur Rumkey and explain everything. He is a level-headed fellow and a friend. I am sure he will try to reassure the crew.” Long, elegant fingers wrapped around the older woman’s wrist with surprising strength. “Do not worry, tantine. It is done and we will have to live with whatever comes next. I will not let anything happen to you or your girls.” That was a big promise but it was one Françoise felt she had to make.

“How fares she?” Lucette eyed the blonde in the bed.

“Cold… very cold.”

“Hmmm. I will ask Honorine and see if she can find something to warm her.” A sly smile settled on the woman’s face. “And no bed warmer either. Hmmm… it seems that is a task for you, my dear.” The smile widened as a blush kissed Françoise’s face. “Now, in you get and stir the woman’s blood.”

“Tantine!” How was it that the woman always made her feel like ten years old? Such talk between them always brought out the innocence in her. As Lucette started to leave, Françoise called out. “And keep a close watch on the Captain. I do not trust him. He may try to take advantage of my absence.”

“Oui. Until later.”

“Oui.” After the madam left Françoise made her way to the bunk, perching herself on the edge of it as she looked down at her wife. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Just cold and tired.”

“I can help.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” But Dale didn’t budge, all effort gone out the window with her strength.

“Do you want to move over?”

“No. Do you?” One elegant eyebrow rose. “Alright, alright. You may have to push me though.” Despite her body saying to the contrary, Dale’s mind managed to move her lethargic body over to the wall, allowing Françoise to crawl in beside her.

“Come here,” the French woman murmured, pleased with the immediate response of her partner. Her arms encircled the cool body, her hands rubbing briskly up and down her back. “Foolishness,” she whispered, planting a loving kiss on her cold cheek.

“Yeah, yeah… I… know…” Dale finally gave in to the exhaustion, her eyes drooping quickly as she fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

“Françoise.” The comforting voice broke through the haze in her head.

“Oui.” Sluggishly the brunette awoke, her eyes taking moments to come into focus. “Oh…” It was too late. Had it been anyone else but Lucette who had woken her the deception would have been discovered.

“Never mind, little one. How is she?”

Françoise’s hand swept over her lover’s brow. “She is a little warm.”

“Here. All we could manage was some herbal tea. The brazier will not be used until the evening meal.”

“I am sure she will enjoy it, even if it is cold.” The aristocrat shook her sleeping partner gently. “Hey…,” she crooned soothingly. “Lucette has brought something warm to drink.”

“Hmmm…” Her scratchy throat begged for the soothing liquid to ease the soreness, but her body was still lethargic. Was she so out of shape that a small swim in the ocean had drained her completely?

“You are hot, chérie.”

“Well, that explains why I’m having trouble sitting up.” With Françoise’s aid, Dale sat up in the bunk, leaning forward as her partner slipped in behind her. As she leaned back against the soft fabric of Françoise’s shirt, she sighed. “Ohhh, that is soooo much better.” But it was more the pillow rather than the position she was lying in.

“I…errr… ‘ope…. you… well.” Lucette’s broken English accompanied the cup of liquid.

“Merci, madame.” The blonde’s voice sounded sore and irritated much like her throat. “Damn,” she muttered. “Not a cold now.”

Slowly the French woman fed her little American the herbal tea under the watchful eye of the brothel madam. Dale chuckled after the last drop passed her lips.

“What is so funny?”

“I was just thinking how funny it is that we three are together. An aristocrat, a brothel madam and a furniture restorer. Three classes of people making up a family. Strange.”

“Oui, strange.” And yet it seemed right. It took the lowest class to show Françoise the true meaning of friendship. In the ruling class there was no such thing as friends, each vying for a position in the political hierarchy that would benefit themselves. It was a game she was not prepared to play.

“What did she say?”

“She was pointing out that we find friends in the unlikeliest of places, tantine.” Françoise smiled sweetly at the woman who had become her mother.

“Oui, that is so true. Who would have thought I could find an aristocrat worth talking to?” She grinned wickedly and held up her hands as Françoise pretended to throw the cup at her. “But it has been worth it, little one. Oui… it has been a pleasure to know you.”

Françoise could feel the tear welling in her eye. She was not going to shed it. “I just wish…”

“Non, Françoise. You were a victim as were we. There is no blame to give… or take.” Lucette’s head tilted sideways and jokingly asked, “Are you really an aristo? You certainly do not act like one.”

“Only a minor one, tantine.” Françoise held up her index finger and thumb and pinched them together. “It is the ones with a little power that are the most dangerous of all.”

“And yet you did not become one of them.”

“Non. Being sold by one’s parents to a madman killed any thirst for power I may have had. Slavery can cross all boundaries of class distinction, tantine. Even the daughter of a nobleman can become a slave and understand its subtleties.”

“See? There is another good thing to come out of this horror. I would never be friends with a snobby elitist.”

“Tantine!”

“What, my sweet?”

“You know what ‘snobby elitist’ means?” Françoise leaned back against the wooden wall. “It surprises me that you know the words at all.”

“Ahh, mon bébé. Occasionally the men who come to my establishment talk as well. They tell me what they would not say to their wives.”

“You have become un confesseur as well?”

“Oui, but I do not give absolution, only comfort.” Lucette laughed at the shocked look on the young woman’s face. “It was not always about sex in my establish…” She stopped suddenly, realizing that her situation had changed.

“Of course it was, otherwise why would they be there in the first place? But I know what you mean. Everything will be fine, tantine. If you wish to return I will arrange it.” But sorrow tainted those words. Her family would be half a world away if the old woman decided to return to France.

“Do you ever wonder what happened to your real family?”

“They lost the right to be my family the day they sold me.”

“It was an arranged marriage.”

“THEY SOLD ME!!” Françoise’s voice screamed her anger, causing the woman in her arms to jump. “I was nothing more than chattel to them.” She finally had the chance to let it all go, to cry to the heavens the injustice of her life.

“They needed the money, Françoise.”

“And that gave them the right to sell me to that man as a trophy?”

“But your father was in danger of losing his title.”

“Non! My MOTHER was in danger of losing his title. ‘Baron’ meant more to her than it ever did to him. She shamelessly manipulated him. And my brother? Oh no, he was too important to sell. But their daughter… she was only worth what gold Le Comte would pay them.” Françoise’s face reddened with indignation. “They sold me like some prize stallion.”

“Hey… hey….” Dale tried to calm the agitated woman behind her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” the brunette muttered. But Dale could see in Lucette’s eyes that nothing was something… something really big.

“Nothing has you screaming in my ear?”

“Please…” That was all she said to the blonde. ‘Please’. But it was full of unspoken words. It was not a conversation for now.

Françoise breathed deeply, allowing her senses to settle. She knew her hands were shaking, even without looking at them. “So how does it fare on deck?”

Lucette gracefully accepted the change of subject, not pushing the issue with her. It was a touchy subject and would be for some time. “I talked to Rumkey. He will do his best.”

“And the Captain?”

“He wanders around muttering to himself. I am not sure what he is thinking.”

“Never mind about him. I will take care of it if the need arises.” Françoise tugged Dale closer to her. “How is the other woman?”

“The slaves are uneasy around her, thinking she has been bewitched. They do not trust her but they have left her alone.” The older woman hesitated. “It may have been better for her to have drowned, young one. Her life may not be worth living.”

“It is not worth living now.” Françoise muttered. “I agree, but Dale is who she is. She did not want to see the woman die if she could help her. And for that, I praise her. She has a generous heart and a loving spirit.” Rich blue eyes shone with admiration and love for the woman so close nearby.

“Ahhh, love overlooks many things, Françoise. It is a wonderful thing to see in you, my friend.” Lucette shuffled her feet. “Now I will leave you two alone to rest.”

“Before you go, how are your girls?”

“Violette is feeling better with the herbs you gave her. Angelique, Lisette and Edith are teaching us the games they learned from the crew. Dice, cards, check-ers and something called knoo-nuke-knucklebones, I think. Sabine has struck up a friendship with one of the sailors. Céleste has taken up reading one of Monsieur Barbineau’s books. Sandrine is sneaking around. I think she needs watching. And Rosalie? Since you introduced her to Monsieur Barbineau, her eyes have not wandered anywhere else.”

“Ahhh, lovesick fools.” While idle fingers gently caressed Dale, Françoise’s mind thought. “Perhaps Sandrine will need a word of warning. Friendship is one thing, but plying her trade on board is not wise.”

“If you think so...”

“Tantine, if it were common knowledge that the women were amenable to earning some coin, fights could break out. Jealousy and possessiveness are powerful tools to a man’s libido. We cannot afford any more trouble.”

“Take heed of your own words, Françoise.”

“I know, tantine. The Captain… well, he irks me so.” That was an understatement. Just the sight of the man raised her blood pressure. The knowing smile of Lucette told her that she fooled no one.

“Now rest, my child. I will return later with dinner.” The older woman winked as she opened the door and left.

Chapter 7

The sounds of the scratch of the quill and whoosh of the vessel in the wash of a wave were hypnotic.

Scratch, scratch…. Whoosh…. Scratch… whoosh.

It was a gentle rhythm that, by now, had become a way of life. Françoise read back over her entry, recalling the few nervous days she had just been through.

Day Twenty-Nine

Dale’s foolish saving of the slave came back to haunt her, as I suspected it would. The fever has finally left her and she has been sleeping for the last two days. I think our God must be pleased with us because she is getting better every moment. I am trying to keep her in bed but I think my time is gone. She is eager to breathe the sea air for herself.

Françoise had added a bit more, but decided to scribe it in French…

I do not know if love is as wonderful as everyone claims. I was nearly sick with worry as she tossed and turned in a fevered state. Every mutter and moan was as if it came from my own lips. Seeing her sick made me sick as well. If love is God’s gift then why does he make us suffer so?

Françoise dipped the quill into the half-empty bottle of ink and continued her musing in English.

It was amusing to see Lucette and her girls fussing around her, and I am sure that Dale appreciated the sentiment. Sébastien, as a favor to Lucette, would bring in the evening meal for both of us. Maybe he is what tantine needs. Someone to finally share her remaining years with. I hope I am right. Even Rumkey expressed his concern over her health. It seems my instincts were right about him also.

There have been strange noises coming from the storage room. Moaning and groaning and the occasional woman’s whimper. I know what that sound is but I am hoping that I am wrong. Lucette asked her girls about it but they deny it. Maybe one of them is lying. I cannot accuse without knowing who. Tantine has asked again for restraint and I will have to trust her to carry it through.

A knot of wood in the wall has disappeared, leaving a hole through to the next room. As quickly as it appeared it was gone. Someone was watching us... and I think I know who…

Françoise’s eyes turned to the frame perched in the corner behind the trunk. What she wouldn’t give to be back in Dale’s time. Her illness had scared her, making her painfully aware of how fragile life was out on the high seas. At least back in Boston there was a warm bed, hot food and that delightful steaming waterfall Dale called a shower. Although she had no need before, she was sure that a doctor could be found if Dale took a turn for the worse.

Her eyes lovingly slid over the mahogany, studying the ridges and whirls of the intricate carving on display. She had always liked that piece, not fully understanding the attraction until a few weeks ago.

“Hey…” Dale’s voice was hoarse from ill use, but she knew that would change in the days to come. “What are you up to?”

“Just writing, mon cœur.”

“About me, I suppose.”

“Noooo…”

“Yeessssss. There’s no point in lying to me, my love.”

“Fine. I am writing about you.”

“And cursing me too, I bet.”

“How could you think such a thing, my love? I do not curse strangers and I barely know you.”

“I thought we had gone through all of this.”

“It was about your ancestors, not about you.”

“So?”

“So, what do you hide from me?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide, and to prove it just ask me.”

Françoise put down her quill and dusted the page, allowing it to dry while she moved herself behind Dale, her back resting against the wall and the young blonde resting against her chest. It was a position that they both had adopted easily and with great enthusiasm. “Tell me all.”

“The whole thing?”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I don’t think I can remember everything. How about the highlights?”

“High… light?”

“Grrrrrrr…” The language barrier was starting to annoy her. “I will give you the short version.”

“As you wish.” The rumble of the deep voice tickled Dale’s back, as well as the chuckle that accompanied it.

“Do you want the story or not?”

“Oui, I do.”

“I was born in Boston twenty-seven years ago and raised in our family home. But you already know that. I have an older brother, Marcus, and he has two lovely sons.” Dale looked over her shoulder. “At least the family name will continue.”

“Did you not say to your mother about you being the last in the line?”

“It was a threat. She pisses me off sometimes.”

“Noo!”

“No more sarcasm, thank you very much.” Dale yanked a dark lock hard in annoyance. “Marcus had a falling out with mother and she disowned him. She was expecting me to be the breeding cow to supply an heir to the fortune.”

“Ahhh.” It seemed family expectations had not changed in two hundred years.

“Exactly. Now she’s going have to go crawling to him and accept him back into the fold. That’s why she was trying so hard to keep me. Eating crow is not on her menu… ever.”

“Americans eat that kind of bird?”

“Oh Lord… My mother finds it hard to apologize. According to her she is never wrong.”

“What about your father?”

“Daddy?” Dale’s lips twitched. She was going to miss him most of all. “He’s a sweet man who has a harpy for a wife.”

“Tsk tsk, such a thing to say about your mother.”

“Are you saying that I’m wrong?”

“Not at all, but to hear you say it is…is… surprising.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. You have seen first-hand what she’s like. That’s why I live in my own place. Boy, that started World War Three.”

“World… War… Three?” Françoise held her breath. “World… War?”

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t happen for another hundred years. And it’s not literally the whole world, just the major countries.” But Françoise was not convinced. “What I mean is that there was major trouble between her and me. It went on and on and she threatened to cut me off as well. If it wasn’t for daddy, I would have been living in a one-room hellhole.”

Françoise was getting lost quickly, but she at least understood part of it. Dale’s overbearing mother had tried to force her to conform and she wouldn’t. At least she had a choice.

“He arranged for the purchase of the loft you found me living in. He paid for it. But otherwise I support myself. I didn’t want her claiming any hold over my independence.”

“And you did… what you say? Furniture…?”

“A furniture restorer. Do you know that if it wasn’t for my job we would have never met?”

“How so?”

“I was looking for used furniture in a basement and found the mirror frame. It was something… I don’t know… it just called to me, you know?”

“Just like when I looked up and saw you in the mirror. It was… strange. I just opened my eyes and you were there, looking at me… through me… into me. You had grabbed my soul with one look, chérie.”

“Yeah, I’m just figuring that out now. I was wondering why you were chasing me.”

“Chasing? Oh, no no no. You came to me, if I recall.”

“That was because you were screaming like a banshee half the night.”

“It drew your attention, did it not?”

“You were going to wake up the neighbors!” Dale was not going to tell her that the building she lived in was deserted at night. It was a small commercial block that was open during the day, her loft once being a dance studio. Occasionally, someone worked late and a light was on, but generally at night it was just her and the security guard who patrolled the building.

A large hand came up and covered her mouth. “Now, about this furniture….”

The low words were whispered into her ear, tickling her senses. Dale could feel her body respond to the nearness of her partner, swirling through her like potent liquor. “It was something I was always interested in. Old furniture. Chairs, tables…,” her lips tilted upwards, “…armoires.”

“What is it?”

“I was searching for an armoire when I found the mirror by accident.” Dale let her head drop back onto Françoise’s shoulder. “Anyway, I went to a private school. I think that’s where my love for old furniture was nurtured. It began at home, but mother was not encouraging. I was to get married and produce an heir. That was my only reason for living according to her.”

“And your father?”

“He was the one who sent me away to boarding school. I’m sure he was also the one who put in a good word to my first job after college. He never said anything but I knew it was him.”

“See? Perhaps if we return, he will protect you.”

“Us… protect us. He knows what you mean to me.”

“Perhaps. We still have a journey to complete.” Françoise did not want to express the concerns she still had about the voyage. It was better that Dale lived in hope of returning to her home.

“So I worked in a museum in the back room, but the politics drove me out.”

“It was owned by the government?”

“Noo… but the lying and back-stabbing was the same. People were trying to get into a better position in the company at the expense of the work. It broke my heart to see such beautiful pieces being sacrificed like that. So, I bought the loft and set up my own business.”

“Like Lucette?”

“Well no, I was not selling myself to the highest bidder.” She tilted up her head to see a grin on the French woman’s face. Dale lightly pinched the available thigh, forcing her pillow to jump. “No, I would find old pieces of furniture and restore them. Oil and polish them to their former state. Just the small stuff for families. I had yet to find a major piece that would set me up.”

“Set… up?”

“For me to gain a reputation as a quality restorer I needed to find that one piece that would put my name into the papers. Unfortunately, I’m still waiting…”

“It is a shame that the mirror will not allow us to transport such things.”

“But, I found something much more valuable.” She snuggled into the embrace, willing those arms to tighten around her. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“It is enough… for now.”

* * *

Dale emerged into the sunlight for the first time in a week, and it was heaven. Françoise hovered nearby as she made her way to the railing. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders as the sea spray hit her pale face. It was wet, it was cool… and it was wonderful. Standing there looking out to sea she knew she had survived. She would live for another day.

“And how is she?” Lucette and her girls surrounded the duo, smiling and fussing around the two of them.

“Good as new.” When Dale answered Françoise blinked once and then blinked again. “Don’t look so surprised.” Maybe all the hours of grinding syllables and guttural vowels had paid off.

“You understood that?”

“A bit, yeah, but it would be the first thing I would ask in her position.”

“Ahh.” The French woman sighed, sadly accepting that there were still more hours of painful lessons to go. She looked over the heads of the hovering crowd to survey the scene. The Captain stared at her with a visage that never seemed to change. The crew was busy attending to their normal duties swabbing decks, coiling ropes, helping the cook for the evening meal. Rumkey raised his hand and nodded jovially and Françoise returned the gesture. At least Dale’s arrival had not disturbed the running of the ship.

Her eyes turned cautiously towards the slaves, not sure what reception their arrival had been given. What greeted her even surprised her normal stoic personality. Instead of the fear and suspicion she expected, the slaves actually seem pleased to see her or, more to the point, Dale. Their eyes were fixed on her partner with something akin to awe. What had changed their minds?

“Why are they looking at me like that?” Françoise’s muscles tensed at the sudden arrival of the blonde. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hmmm.” Françoise smiled warmly at her lover before turning her eyes once again to the assembled slaves congregating on the far side of the deck.

“I hate to say it but God, they smell awful!” Even the gentle breeze couldn’t dissipate it. “I know it’s not their fault, Philippe, but keeping them in that enclosed space is just plain cruel.”

“We do not smell much better, chérie.”

“Speak for yourself!” Dale tried to sound indignant but on this occasion she didn’t succeed. “Yeah, I know. I want my shower!” Haunting memories filtered back to her loft and the time they had spent in said shower.

“You know my mind, mon cœur.” Despite the fact that Dale’s mother was intent on seeing her in jail and separated from her daughter, they were wonderful days free of worry and strife. Playful days. Loving days. Perfect days.

“Monsieur Rumkey.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Do you know why they stare at my wife so?”

“I do not know, monsieur. While you were in the cabin they talked amongst themselves for quite some time.”

“They must have come up with some explanation about what had happened to satisfy them.” Françoise watched as the slaves murmured amongst themselves. “As long as it is not hostile…”

“I can live with that.”

“What about the woman?” It had not registered that Dale had answered her, her mind intent on finding its own explanation that it could accept.

“As well as could be expected for a slave, monsieur.”

Even though the woman sat on the edge of the group she had not be ostracized, unlike the white woman and child. The baby was restlessly crying, being held in the limp arms of his mother.

“What about them?” A dark head nodded towards the mother and child sitting apart from the group. “She does not look well.” Françoise narrowed her eyes and could see a bruise or two around her face and neck.

“She… ahhh…”

“Never mind. I can see for myself.” Angry azure eyes looked up to the upper deck, glittering shards of deep blue ice piercing the Captain as he gleefully grinned at her.

“I am sorry, monsieur.” The First Mate shuffled his feet, knowing that he had failed in his duty to inform her.

“It is fine, Rumkey. I should never have put you in that position. Your duty is to the Captain, even if he is undeserving of the title.”

“The journey will be over soon.” He returned to his duties, expecting that his answer would solve everything.

“Dale…” Françoise turned her attention to her wife but she was gone. “Dale! Come back!” The smaller woman had crossed the deck to stand in front of the slaves. The French woman couldn’t see her face but the expression on the group she was facing was interesting. Some looked with interest, a few with awe, but the majority looked at her with respect. Dale touched the head of the woman she had saved, as if she were blessing her, before moving over to the mother and child to do the same thing.

“What are you doing?”

Dale sauntered back to stand at her husband’s side. “I figured it out. They think I’m some kind of shaman, a priest, a witchdoctor.”

“And touching the head?”

“Maybe if it looked like they were in my favor they might be accepted by the rest of the group.”

“That is a dangerous game you play, chérie.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know. But what am I supposed to do?”

“I see that you have recovered, madam.” The Captain had sneaked up behind and stood perilously close to invading their personal space.

“Madame…” But Françoise knew he deliberately used the word to irritate her. “Yes, she is now well again…” No thanks to you, you son of a mule.

“Maybe we should dine together in the Captain’s cabin, qu'en pensez-vous?” His muddy eyes skimmed over Dale like slippery seaweed, leaving behind a slimy trail wherever his eyes touched her body.

“It is our cabin for the duration of this voyage, Captain, and I am afraid that we are already overcrowded. One more would just not be possible.” Françoise’s reply garnered no response as the Captain’s eyes were riveted on the blonde. She could see Dale’s body react to the obvious ogling, the blonde tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders in an effort to cover up even further.

“I will have to see what arrangements can be made for an intimate supper.” The Captain turned to Françoise, standing nose to nose with the woman. His eyes narrowed as he studied the face so close to him.

“Yes, Captain?” This close Françoise could feel the heat of his gaze. It took all her willpower not to squirm under his study of her. “Do you wish to say something?”

“I am just curious that you do not seem to suffer from the same curse as the rest of us, monsieur.”

“Curse?” Françoise could feel her voice starting to slide upwards, so she stopped at the one word.

His hand came up and touched the smooth skin of her chin. “I beg your pardon!” Françoise smacked away the brazen hand. When she could stand it no longer she took a step back, glad to feel the gentle breeze between them.

“No beard… monsieur.” But his eyes couldn’t stop dropping to her chest before continuing the journey to the crotch of her pants. “A very hairless… man, monsieur.”

Françoise wanted to tell her wife ‘I told you so’ but any contact would be interpreted as an admission of guilt. “It runs in my family, Captain. I tried growing a beard once but my wife did not appreciate the bristles.” The look of skepticism told her she hadn’t convinced him… yet. “Why do I need to explain myself to you?”

“I could say that I am the Captain…”

“You always say that you are the Captain, monsieur, and I grow weary of hearing it.” Dale’s hand touched her arm, trying to calm her.

“… and everything aboard this vessel is my business.”

“Very well then, but this will be the end of it. My wife does not like the bristles because it interferes with her pleasure.” Françoise did not wait for his reaction, instead steering Dale towards their cabin. She could imagine it though, his face contorted into a mixture of stunned silence and unbridled lust. Maybe a visual demonstration was needed.

* * *

Chapter 8

Françoise entered the cabin and closed the door quietly. She took a moment to lean against the wall to watch Dale putting away some clothes. No longer aware of the gentle roll under her feet, she was now at ease with this new sensation in her life. A muffled sound drew her attention and she turned her eyes towards the wall. A small hole appeared, a wooden plug removed from a worn knothole. Gently sighing, the aristocrat moved into the light, attracting the interest of her mate.

Why did she feel it was necessary to prove her ‘manhood’ to the Captain? She did not really want to expose their love to him but their journey wasn’t over yet. Unfortunately, the Captain held the key for a safe cruise and she could ill afford a deadly confrontation over her being found out to be a woman. She had to allow him to be a voyeur to this little charade. For now, she was a man protecting her woman from the lewd Captain and his loyal crew.

“Woman! Come here! I need you now!” The tall woman’s blazing blue eyes pinned her partner in place.

“Errr…. Yeah…. Okay.” Dale was confused by the sudden imperious tone of her lover.

“Yes… husband!” Françoise hated doing this, she really did. Her wife was the most loving person she had ever known and certainly making love with her required nothing more than a subtle signal. She watched as emerald eyes skittered around the room.

“But… Philippe…”

The French woman smiled. Dale was a smart one. “On the table…” A lone finger pointed to the flat board, indicating where she wanted the woman to be. As Dale approached her she could see the excitement in those eyes. “Lift your dress,” she growled, letting the sternness in her voice excite Dale even more. “Ahh. That is more like it wife,” she crooned, the stamp of authority marking each and every word.

As she lay back on the smooth wood, Dale looked up into storm-tossed eyes. There was a reason for this game, she now understood that, and trusted her partner implicitly to guide them to whatever end had been planned. “As you wish, my husband,” she whispered as determined lips latched onto her own ferociously. The contact was rough and demanding, sending her libido skywards.

“Forgive me, chérie,” Françoise muttered as her lips forged a blazing path down to the gentle swell of the blonde’s breasts peeking out enticingly from the top of the bodice. It had been too long since she had feasted on the pale flesh and her soul eagerly wanted more. As much as she wanted to love her gently, her present actions fed upon themselves, doubling, tripling, quadrupling her need to possess, control and devour the woman underneath her.

“Who owns you, Dale?” It was extremely hard to keep her mind on the lie when the deep fluttering in the pit of her stomach was building rapidly.

“Only you, my love.” Françoise’s heart soared at the utter conviction she saw in those green depths, content to watch the angelic face looking up at her. “Philippe…” The French woman’s insides clenched at the sheer innocent sensuality of that word, and she so longed to hear her own name from those lips.

The roaming hands disappeared. Had she done something wrong? Raising herself onto her elbows, Dale gazed down the length of her body, her partner’s hands out of sight because of the hiked dress. She looked up to see Françoise’s eyes closed, her brow creased in… she was not sure. Concentration? Pain? Fear? “Philippe?”

Françoise was hanging on by a thread. She could not open her eyes for fear of ravaging the woman in a heartbeat. “Chérie…” Even to herself her voice held intense longing laced with a touch of danger. No, this was not the way. Dale deserved caring and loving entreaty, not to be taken like some common whore on a table. “Please…”

Dale sat up, her hand rising to caress the tense cheek. “It will be fine, my love.” Eyes dark as night held hers, showing the internal flame ablaze with desire. Her desire spiked at the intense display. Could she handle such passion?

“Non… later.” Françoise tried to back away but was held firm. One arm snaked around her waist while the other dropped to her pants. A small smile touched her lips as Dale’s eyes widened. “Do you want this?” The French woman could barely get the words out.

“It’s your fantasy, my love.” Soft lips took the tall woman, kissing, licking and nipping in an effort to stir her blood. Moments later she was on her back once more, strong hands caressing her skin underneath the dress.

Françoise closed her eyes, her mind mapping every inch of a body that she knew so well. Her hands roamed nervously, feeling the quivering skin respond to her. She could no longer wait. “Are you ready, chérie?”

“As I’ll ever be. Don’t make me wait Philippe.” Despite her initial reticence Françoise was gentle, allowing her moments to become accustomed to the intrusion. Dale nodded ever so slightly before her wife began to move, setting an almost lazy rhythm. It was at odds with the maelstrom swirling in the indigo depths. “Trust yourself…” For a moment those eyes cleared, looking down at her in loving intensity.

Dale’s hands slid up the two strong arms anchoring her to the table. As she watched, her partner’s eyes flickered to the far wall before returning to her prone form. “Love me…” A gentle smile crossed those lips but was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by an ever-increasing sense of purpose. Dale could feel her passion rise, swelling and tossing like a stormy sea caught in the pull of a hurricane.

Françoise tried to hold back, afraid of what might happen. She looked down into those trusting eyes and her heart melted, the emotion almost painful in her chest. Could she? Should she? Françoise had wanted to show this pig of a man that she was, in fact, a man. She had control over all aspects of her life and had no weaknesses. He needed to know that Dale was hers and hers alone. She knew he was there watching, avaricious eyes studying their every move. Dale was not going to become a bargaining piece in this game between the two of them if she could help it.

“I do not want to hurt you, chérie.”

“And you won’t Philippe,” Dale whispered. “Do as you will, my husband.” The blonde’s voice rose for the benefit of whoever was near. Her hips began to move, gently undulating slowly to begin the dance.

Françoise never let her eyes leave Dale’s, watching carefully for any discomfort she may cause. While this display was for show she would stop at one sign of pain on Dale’s part. Nothing was worth the price of hurting her wife. Maybe she should just kill the man and be done with it. “You deserve better than this.”

“Ch… chalk it up to experience… hmmm…. my… oh… love.” Slowly the leather fed the flames, fiery tendrils licking at her libido. “Oh yeah… keep doing that.”

Françoise smiled. Trust her partner to find the bright side to this charade. Her smile faded as her hips slapped the edge of the table, sending a shudder though her body. A moan escaped her as nerve endings leapt into life. Unconsciously she moved a little harder, her hands moving from Dale’s hips to her bodice to rest over covered breasts. As much as she wanted to uncover them they were for her eyes and her eyes only.

Dale struggled to form coherent thoughts. How was it that she had never felt like this on past occasions? And how was it that this woman could wield it better than any man she had ever been intimate with? If she wasn’t so involved in the intense sensations skittering across her skin at that moment she would have laughed. Trust Françoise to show the men how to do it…

“Oh God… Fra… Phil…” The feeling was indescribable. Françoise had the hips of a demon and the hands of an angel. The woman was everywhere, not lingering long enough in any one spot for her to grow weary of the attention. It was a total possession that she never wanted to be saved from. “Show me your fire…” There. She had finally asked for what she truly wanted.

Those four words unlocked the chains around the French woman’s heart. Many had asked for all of her but to only one she would grant it. Only one… THE one. So she did the only thing she could do… let go. Let go of the mistrust, the anger and the control, feeling true freedom for the first time in her life.

Dale could see it, watching the change in her partner. The years dropped away and she saw that innocent young girl of fifteen who was still filled with a joie de vivre before fate, and covetous parents, took that away from her. Her hands restlessly slid along soft skin, drawing the French woman from her thoughts. Those blue eyes sharpened, the color becoming rich and vibrant in the muted light of the cabin. “Show me your fire…” she repeated, subtly shifting her hips to encourage the request.

Françoise smiled. It was a smile that crossed the boundaries of their friendship and love to something more ethereal, more timeless. It was something that had crossed time to unite them.

And so Françoise showed Dale that part of herself that had never been revealed to anyone. In the touch of a finger or the subtle shift of a hip, the French woman loved her blonde as she had no other. Not showing her infinite patience and need for control, Françoise took hold of the moment and soared, grabbing onto the intense emotional link that seemed to shimmer between them. It was… magic.

Dale had felt as if she had left her earthly body behind her. Her partner loved her in a way that she had not experienced before. It was spontaneous, powerful in intensity and freely shared. Her mind was swept away under the brunette’s onslaught. Passion flowed like a rare wine, deep, dark, rich and potent, and she was getting giddy on its heady aroma.

Bold fingers kneaded the blonde’s cloth-covered flesh boldly claiming what she knew was hers. Françoise closed her eyes, allowing her body to just respond. This time it was not a matter of sights and sounds, but things less tangible. Matters of the heart and mind guided her hands and hips, expressing all that she was to Dale.

She dipped her lips to touch the soft skin. “Je t’aime, mon amour.” The words were deep and sensual, touching a core in the small woman that was blazing brightly.

“Moi aussi…” Dale replied, catching her breath at a particularly intense moment. Without conscious thought her legs moved, sliding up over the belt around her lover’s waist.

Françoise watched Dale’s eyes, the irises slipping from a meadow green to a deep emerald. “Ahhh oui, ma chérie.” Those were the last words she articulated. Any further speech was lost as she buried herself time and again into Dale’s soft warmth. She was lost, so totally lost and she didn’t give a damn who was watching.

Small explosions of bright light crossed her vision so Dale finally gave in and just closed her eyes. It was at that moment that her universe came into clear focus. The ‘why’s and ‘how’s no longer mattered, only the ‘who’. Françoise continued to draw her towards the heavens, neither slowing down nor relenting. It was exquisite.

Need drove the French woman to continue. The feeling was beyond words so she expressed none, instead resorting to moans and whimpers that needed release. She could feel it, the light at the end of the tunnel that held both warmth and comfort. Eagerly she sought it, striving for the completion that was lingering just out of her reach. Her heart wanted it, craved it and needed it, so she denied herself nothing. Françoise bent her head to take Dale’s cloth covered nipple in her mouth, suckling energetically as her hips crashed into the table edge.

The blonde’s back ached as the tidal wave swept over her. She opened her mouth but no sound came. The pleasure was everywhere, touching hidden places that she didn’t know she had. Neck muscles distended in reaction, cutting off her air. But she didn’t care. The pleasure came and came and seemed to never end. When she could stand it no longer her fingers dug into the powerful arms holding her.

Françoise had wished that she could have watched the blossoming of Dale but she had been totally swept aside by her own completion. She was drowning in a sea of exquisitely painful bliss, not even aware that her hips were still moving. “Mon Dieu!” she cried to the four walls surrounding them.

It took several moments before either of them was aware of their surroundings. Françoise withdrew, quickly buttoning up her pants. Silently, she helped Dale to her feet and, with out a word, left the room. The blonde watched the broad back recede, wondering what she had done wrong.

* * *

Françoise stood at the rail looking out over the swelling ocean, her thoughts in as much turmoil as the water beneath her. A rapidly building storm in the distance filled her mind, her thoughts tossed around like pieces of paper under the onslaught of the raw emotions swirling inside her. The enormity of the situation had finally hit her. Until now, her life with Dale had been wonderful and exciting, but the truth was finally revealed to her. This was forever. Dale was right.

* * *

How could something so right suddenly be so wrong? On the verge of tears, Dale took comfort on the bunk they shared. The aroma of her wife still clung to her clothes, silently mocking her. The knock on the door went unheeded until a second knock telegraphed an urgency in the visitor. “Entrez!” She sat up as the door swung open. “What do you want?”

Dark eyes swept over the seated figure on the bed. Only moments before he had seen her in rapture and now she was cloaked in a sweet innocence that made him want her even more. “I see that your husband has left you, little one.”

Dale did not need a translation to know what the Captain had said. She saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice. However, she thought he wouldn’t be so foolish as to try anything with Françoise nearby. “Monsieur, sortez s'il vous plaît.”

A wry chuckle escaped those parched lips. “I should not need an invitation, madame. After all, this is my cabin.” The stocky man edged forward slowly, closing the distance between himself and the woman who had now stood. He held up his hands in entreaty, as if trying to gentle a horse. “Now, now little one. There is no need for you to be scared.”

Dale watched the man move closer until he was an arm’s length away from her. Whatever he wanted it was not for conversation. Françoise, where are you? Her mind screamed for help but she knew that the mental call would not be heard. “Stay back, Captain.” She had nowhere to go with her back pressed against the wall, her hands in front of her as a rather feeble barrier against him.

Rough, gnarled fingers grabbed her arms, pinning her in place. As he moved those last few inches to make contact, Dale’s knee came up and found her target sending the man reeling to the floor clutching his manhood. A menacing growl escaped his lips as the pain surged through his body, but it did not distract him enough to grab a handful of dress as the small woman tried to run to the door. “You are making this difficult, madame, when it does not need to be.”

“Let… let go!” Dale tugged frantically at the hem of her dress, trying to dislodge the meaty hand holding onto it. She lashed out again with her foot but to no avail, the bulging arm flexing as he pulled her towards him, the tattoos on his flesh dancing macabrely with each exertion.

The door flung open to reveal an angry young man, blazing blue eyes targeting the source of his ire. Françoise’s heart was still beating frantically from the moment Rosalie alerted her to Dale’s predicament to when she stepped through the door. “Let her go!” The voice boomed through the room, bouncing ominously off the wooden walls in all directions.

The Captain stopped in his tracks, his attention now drawn to the large moving body quickly approaching him. His hands rose in surrender but had little effect on the fists raining down on him. “Monsieur, please…”

“Please? I think not you sorry excuse for a Frenchman.” Strength borne from rage bodily lifted the rotund man to his feet. She all but dragged him through the door, down the short corridor to the deck, before throwing him the last few feet to land with a thud in front of his men. “Vous m'en rendrez raison!” she bellowed to the gusting wind.

“Is there a problem monsieur?” Rumkey approached slowly, not wanting to become a target of the young man’s ire.

“This… this… putrid piece of water scum attacked my wife!” Françoise paced erratically, her fury seeking an outlet. She drew her sword, waving it ominously in the Captain’s face.

“You… you must be mistaken… Philippe.” The wiry little man tried using his first name in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

“Rumkey! I know what I saw. That… man… was grabbing at my wife’s dress.” But Françoise took some of the blame for the situation. She had badly underestimated the effect the voyeurism would have on the man’s libido. Instead of placating his suspicions it only fed his need.

The first mate looked at his Captain lying on the deck. “Is that true, Cap’n?”

“True? You are taking the word of this… this… child over the word of your Captain?”

“He was in our room! He was on the floor grabbing at her dress. What more do you need to know?” Agitation etched the clean planes of Françoise’s face.

“What’s going on?” Dale had stood to the side while her wife handled the situation, but the tic in Françoise’s jaw told her it was not going well.

“Nothing, chérie.”

“But he attacked me.”

“I know…. Dale. I am trying to make them see what he really is.”

“She invited me in,” he said smugly.

“You invited him in?” Françoise couldn’t believe that Dale would do such a thing.

“There was a knock on the door. I thought it was you. So I said ‘entrez’. When I saw it was… him,” Dale nodded distastefully in the direction of the Captain, “I asked him to leave.”

“Then what happened?”

“He came towards me and when he grabbed me I kneed him in the groin.”

“Groin?”

“Manhood.”

Françoise winced at the thought but the man deserved no less. But it was comforting to think that Dale would respond if she was in danger. After that first day in the woods she had her reservations about leaving the woman alone. It seemed that destiny had chosen her a worthy mate.

The imposing young man with the jet black hair turned his attention back to the Captain, who was now on his feet. “Answer Monsieur Rumkey’s question, Captain. Did you attack my wife?”

“If you have to ask, then you doubt it also.” He still did not answer.

“Answer, damn you!” Françoise rushed him, pushing the flabby body against the railing. Her sword rested against his neck to emphasize her point. “Admit it! You attacked my wife!” He did nothing but smile.

“Why are you wasting time believing this son of a pig?” Lucette could see the man was confident to the point of arrogance and was relying on his power over his men to get him out of trouble.

“Shut your mouth, whore!”

“Captain, I would suggest you keep that wayward tongue of yours in your mouth!” Menace tainted each and every word muttered by Sébastien. “This lady has the right…”

“Lady?” He laughed boisterously. “Has she not told you what she does, blacksmith?”

“Don’t lecture me, you piece of crap.” The giant of a man took a step towards the chubby Captain, his sheer size scaring the coward back a step or two. “Lucette may be a whore…” Sébastien said the word but tempered it with a gentle smile at the madam. “… but as far as I am concerned you, sir, are the one prostituting himself here. Taking advantage of this gentle flower in such a way…” His hand swept towards Dale.

“Gentle flower? Look at her and tell me she is not inviting such advances.”

“Why you…” Both the blacksmith and the aristocrat battled for the space that would have put them in front of their adversary.

“I do not know what all the fuss is about. She would have enjoyed my attention had we not been interrupted.”

“She is married, you dolt!” Lucette doubted that the man could be that stupid, so he must have been crazy.

“So you say, woman.” He smiled slyly as if betraying a secret.

“See? He admits it with his own words. Can you deny me justice?” The Captain was an insufferable pig.

“I am the Captain of this vessel and my word is law.” His words were met with murmurs from the crew.

“Law is it?” She couldn’t help but pull the man away from the railing then slamming him back against it, drawing a whimper before a quiet chuckle escaped his lips. Françoise was so tempted to run him through to wipe that sick smile from his face.

“You raped those poor women below.”

“They are but slaves. They are nothing.”

Françoise hesitated. Had she not said that long ago to Dale about Madeleine? No! She was not like that. She had dismissed the woman’s opinions, not her life. Her servants were well looked after and paid. They could have left any time they wanted. She was not a tyrant, was she?

“They are not nothing.” She was beginning to realize that now, now that she had no power. All life was precious. “My wife is not nothing. Do you hear me? She is very precious to me and I will not allow you to go unpunished for this attack.”

“And who’s going to help you, eh? This is my ship and my men. They are loyal to me.”

Françoise removed her fist buried in the Captain’s dirty jacket and backed away. The sword in her hand vibrated menacingly. She was so, so close to committing murder. She wanted… she needed… retribution. Françoise angrily paced back and forth. “Give the Captain a weapon!”

“Philippe–”

“Stay out of this, tantine!” Blazing shards of sapphire stared the Captain down. “Rumkey, find the Captain a sword.”

“Monsieur, this is not wise–”

“I do not care! I demand satisfaction! This…this…man attacked my wife! It cannot go undefended.” The tall woman flexed her rapier and made a few cursory swipes with moderate skill.

The hefty man looked his opponent up and down. “Oui, my sword please, Rumkey.” He smile wickedly as the pommel was slapped into his hand. His dark eyes ran up the edge of his weapon, imaging the acute sharpness of it slicing those skin and muscle. “This should not take long…,” he chuckled, drawing a snicker from a handful of the crew.

Françoise finally looked at her opponent and the weapon he was swinging. It was far heavier than her own and would easily break through her defenses. Before she could utter a word the handle of a similar sword was presented to her. The fresh breeze started to pick up, blowing the long tendrils in her plait into wild disarray.

“It must be a fair duel, monsieur,” Rumkey muttered, his eyes meeting the young man’s standing there about to defend his wife’s honor.

“Merci.” Her allies were found in the unlikeliest of places. Behind the Captain stood Sébastien, his trunk-like arms crossed over his barrel chest. She could see from the look in his eye that he would step in and stop the fight if it became necessary.

The cutlass felt heavy in her hand, throwing off the balance she had acquired with the lighter weapon. Not only was she fighting a man she detested but she would also be fighting her own waning stamina. It was a situation that she needed to finish, and quickly.

The breeze had picked up, flicking wisps of dark hair into her face. Françoise looked up at the sky and noticed the closing cloud. On the far horizon dark, angry clouds were gathering, illuminated once or twice by a flicker of bright light. A storm was approaching. It was as if everything was working against her need for justice.

“Whenever you are ready, monsieur,&r