Caribbean Reign Ch. 19-20

That's right, it's one you've been waiting for. This time, we're playing for all the marbles, so let's see how the arrogant viscount and insolent heiress do with a little fire under their feet. I hope the wait was worth it!

If you're just joining us, I definitely recommend that you start this adventure from the beginning. And if you can't wait to read more, recall that this story is a fully published novel, though I will be releasing the entire thing in weekly installments.

Chapter 19: Truth and Consequences - Rafael's Perspective

The occasional beam of sunlight breaks through her icy veneer, but beyond that, the landscape is harsh and unforgiving. This trip was intended to be romantic. I appealed to her beauty with extravagant gowns. I satisfied her latent thirst for adventure with maritime voyages. I even dove selflessly into her nether regions -- far beyond anything a man might be expected to do while courting a radiant, young woman.

And that's precisely the problem. Ana is not any young woman.

She is my slave. The idea of taking her as wife is sheer fantasy. Regardless of the shadows in her past, the viscount of San Miguel could never bring a common Frenchwoman into the marriage bed. She is mine for the next ten years.

It is folly to think that I can go without marrying for ten years. Our bloodline requires an heir, and Isabel's empty brood will not suffice. It is not unheard of for gentlemen to have mistresses, but what kind of wife would tolerate Ana's insolent tongue? And what contrivance of Ana would ever tolerate me having a wife?

I could cast her from my bed and have her only attend me during my public audiences. With the addition of a generous clothing allowance, many of the housemaids would find that to be a perfectly reasonable arrangement. But Ana isn't a drooling housemaid. She would detest any arrangement that ignored her wits for her looks.

The bright stars above the upper decks mock my plight. These stars do not wrestle with trivial earthly matters. They only exist in each other's orbits, twinkling all the same.

I hate to see her miserable. In her eyes that last time, I saw the shattered fragments of a dream. I've seen that same look in my father. Every year, on the occasion of my mother's birthday, he fell to pieces and could not be consoled by any manner of pretty maids.

Ana's impatient voice rolls over the waves.

Neither of us is pleased by this arrangement.

I pace across the ship. The floorboards creak in concert with my solitude. Slowly, the image of Ana's crinkled forehead takes hold of my consciousness. The girl makes the same contorted expression every time I disarm her. I wish to continue our sparring sessions. I wish to continue to bed her. I wish to take her out on the open seas and show her the constellations.

The quiet of black water seeps into my bones. Would a merchant's daughter already know the tales of the stars?

I still have no idea of the world from which Ana hails. One week, I am assured that her father is an alcoholic and the next week, I am to believe that the source of her troubles comes from the fact that her suitor was a haberdasher. Our relationship as slave and master leaves little room for true intimacy. What more can I give her to put us on equal footing, a firm hold so that she may finally trust in my better nature?

La Osa Menor flickers in the periphery. I could give her freedom.

The thought plants itself like a miserable thorn, each spike more bitter than the last. Freedom would make her happy and me, miserable. And yet, what is the alternative? To let her wither in my care, my brightest bloom reduced to ashes?

A swarm of sandflies descends upon my head. I swat as many as I can. The plan simply isn't feasible. If my subjects caught word that I was going soft, I would have endless trouble raising levies and keeping order. Setting Ana free would mean losing a prized asset, a skilled negotiator, and a woman I may truly care for.

On the other hand, Ana would have a chance at a normal life, one she believes is already out of reach. The dastardly sullen cottage appears before me once more.

My Ana, the wife of a bloated Frenchman, I cringe at the thought. While the Navarro brand might dampen her marriage prospects, men could forgive a lot with a face like that. I would bet that some might even find it exotic.

I slump over the side of the guardrail, yearning deeply for whatever knocked out the girl.

It will have to wait until we reach land. I have one more night to cling to the thought of her and then, I will forget. And with Ana gone, I will finally bring honor to the family name by wiping out the rest of the Guînes plantation. Even the brightest stars are only pinpricks of light.

***

By the morning, her lilac skirts grace the upper decks. This second dress is much more modestly cut. The fabric cascades around her figure as she socializes with the crewmen. I never understood the sagging backs of modern fashion. Still, I'm pleased to find her in better spirits.

"Good morning, Ana," I say, one hand resting on the wheel of the ship. The men know how to run things, but it is best not to cede all appearances of control.

"Good morning, Your Excellency."

Her false docility is not lost on me. "This is the last time you'll have to endure such an arrangement."

"Perhaps it is for the best," she replies.

No more is said between us. Our last trip together, ending in bitter animosity. And yet, her curtness will not change my decision.

Sails are hoisted into the calming winds. A flurry of commands consumes the crew. Finally, the Joaquina heaves its way into the private docks of the estate. There is much to do but for now, the ship's maintenance is someone else's business.

On the shore, Sebastián waits with a small legion of guards and scribes. He is accompanied by a large carriage meant to return us to the house. No doubt he has some crisis to report on. And he will demand immediate action. I suspect that my mood will be soured for more reasons than one.

Ana absentmindedly picks at the same spot on the banister, chipping away the last of the wood glaze. Her gaze is trained on the open sea, the freedom that her wild spirit craves. Her long tresses flutter in the wind, reaching for what she believes she cannot have. Even mere feet from each other, I sense the swelling rift between us. Now is as good a time as any.

I cough gently to get her attention.

"Ana, while I've enjoyed your company immensely, I cannot, in good conscience -

Thundering footsteps interrupt my speech. The Joaquina is being boarded by my own men. Sebastián's face is inflamed with purpose.

"Seize her," he hisses. Two of my guards surround Ana on both sides and grab her by the elbows. Señor Velasquez always manages to be maximally inconvenient.

"Sebastián, what is the meaning of this?" I say.

Sebastián tugs firmly on his black jacket, yanking the collar stiff. "Don Navarro, there is a traitor in your midst."

I laugh. "Sebastián, the poor girl cannot help her heritage any more than you or I. I admit that I had my reservations, but Ana has proven herself a trustworthy companion. Come, put this charade to rest."

None of the men are laughing with me. Sebastián has indubitably poisoned their minds with half-formed schemes of treachery. I should have known that darker storms were brewing. Though he never liked Ana, he scarcely protested my plan to take her aboard. Sebastián is an excellent spymaster but has become distrustful and paranoid. It is a liability. He treats my orders to stand down as a suggestion.

"Has she stolen something?" I say. "There isn't much on the ship of value, and she's scarcely left my side."

He grins, "Vizconde, you think too small. Quite some time ago, we arrested Annalise Robert for petty theft. Now, I've come to arrest Mademoiselle Catherine de Guînes for treason."

The girl struggles to free herself from the guards. She twists and flails her limbs like a tiny thing caught in a spider's web. The men lift her by her elbows, and her movement is completely suspended. Without a weapon in hand, it's hard to imagine her as someone capable of complex espionage. The idea is almost laughable.

"Do you mean to tell me that the heiress of the Guînes plantation got herself captured, imprisoned, and sentenced just to get close to me? I'm charming - but even I'm not that charming."

He huffs, "You underestimate the deceitful nature of a Frenchwoman."

"Sebastián, enough."

I turn away from him. "Ana, do you have any idea what he's talking about?"

She doesn't respond. She's occupied herself by kicking and scratching at her captors.

"If you require evidence, Don Navarro, I will gladly oblige." Sebastián reaches into his breast pocket. He unrolls a folded piece of parchment and reads in a mocking, feminine voice.

Dear Papa and Maman,

The Spaniards are utter fools. I have been taken prisoner in the guise of my lady' maid, while my true identity remains a secret. Still, I caution that there is no greater danger to Saint-Michel than the Navarro family. The viscount is an evil man, hell-bent on destroying anything of civilized value. He has already violated my body once. I pray that he is not given another opportunity. If this letter reaches you, we must do whatever necessary to bring them to ruin.

Your daughter,

Catherine Eleanor Marguerite de Guînes

I recognize the stationary from my personal collection. While I have no idea what Ana's handwriting looks like, the melodramatic tone certainly seems familiar. And yet, it still doesn't make sense. What does the heiress of a vast plantation stand to gain by pretending to be a slave girl?

However, I cannot deny the effects of the letter on Ana. She has stopped fighting her restraints and her cheeks have turned a ghastly pale.

"Is it true?"

Her eyes ignite with panic. "Rafael, I would never betray you. Just give me some time to explain."

The wavering pleas are a knife to my insides. "Let me explain" is hardly the cry of the innocent.

I circle this slave girl that I've bedecked in finery. When I stare at her and truly look, I do see it. Underneath her terrified expression has always been the same haughty nose and lilting accent of my father's enemies. What kind of disinherited village girl has an education in classical fencing and fluency in multiple languages? The pieces fit together too well to be coincidental.

"What a charming little actress," says Sebastián. "You almost had us all fooled."

I tune out Sebastián's taunts. "Ana, tell me that he's wrong."

Her mouth starts moving as if the matter could still be settled with niceties. "My name may be Catherine, but I never - "

I hold up my hand. "Your name? Your full name?"

"Catherine Eleanor Marguerite de Guînes," she says, eyes downcast.

No amount of clever reasoning can soothe betrayal. My greatest enemy convinced me to let a half-century-old guard down with nothing but a pair of perky breasts. I will be the laughingstock of the island.

"Get her out of my sight."

"You heard the viscount," echoes Sebastián. "Now, move."

The men bow their heads and begin removing her from my vessel.

"Rafael, please listen to me," she cries, "I had no choice. You would've had me killed if I told you the truth.

I whip around to face the traitor. "No choice? I was about to set you free."

God damn it. She wasn't meant to know that. Then again, what is one more gross embarrassment added to the pile?

I signal for the men to hold her in place. "Catherine, I am doing my best to temper my anger. But if I were you, I would keep that pretty mouth shut - lest you not live to see the morning."

In some ways, the new name makes it easier. Catherine is a lying temptress. Ana was merely a figment of my imagination. False tears appear in the creases of her eyes as she is hurried off the boat. For once, she is silent. Perhaps she knows me well enough to recognize the dark fury that once left her naked in the scullery. I make a mental note to have Sebastián's men strip her down to her undergarments.

I think it fitting that Mademoiselle Catherine spends the rest of her time with us without clothing.

Though I may have bedded the enemy before, she has always withheld a secret.

Whenever we lay together, I was tender, carefully taking her virginity, preserving her sense of decency.

No more. Ana may have been worthy of such attention, but this slut deserves no such kindnesses.

I will tear her legs apart, marking my property. I will beat her into submission. I will destroy her sweet pussy until no man can see her as anything but used flesh.

That is the price of her crimes. She may have managed to fool me, but she is the one who will lose everything. I watch as she is dragged through the dirt, knowing that this is only the beginning of her troubles. A cold night in the cellar will soften her resolve. I'm sure she'll spend hours scheming about how to get out of this predicament, batting her eyelashes, waiting for me to relent.

Let her have her schemes. Let her concoct long, winding tales where she is a poor, misunderstood damsel. I will tear each lie away, one by one, and grin as she realizes that there is nothing left for her to do but accept her place.

In the meantime, I must ensure that I am thinking with a clear head. A throbbing erection tends to make one vulnerable to womanly charms. I push aside the crew toward the carriage.

Sebastián follows me off the boat. My friend warned me many times that Ana, or rather, Catherine, had wrapped me around her finger. "I leave you to the interrogation, Your Excellency. I only hope that you won't go too soft on her."

"Don't worry, Sebastián. She is the enemy. I'll wring everything out of her until she's a sobbing mess at my feet."

"Excellent."

His brooding presence falls away in a cloud of self-satisfaction. While I am truly glad that my advisor has saved me from further embarrassment, he could stand to obscure his delight at the situation.

***

Alma awaits me back at the house, obviously confused by my lack of companionship. I'm in no mood for explanation. I am master of this estate. I need not explain myself to anyone.

"Send Martina to my bedroom," I command. "Make sure that my sister stays away from the prisoner." She will no doubt sympathize with the girl, and I refuse to hear that right now.

"Yes, master," Alma replies, brushing her hands on her apron. She is a smart woman. She'll soon be able to surmise the events of the voyage.

As I mount the stairs, blood pounds through my head. How could I possibly be so blind?

I recall the engagement portrait of Catherine de Guînes circulating amongst the great houses of the Caribbean a while back. She was so beyond consideration that I never bothered to obtain a look. If only I had. This would never have happened if I'd simply seen the tramp in advance.

I strip off my shoes and slump down on the bed with a tug of doubt. No matter what kind of hell I rain down upon her, she'll always know that she once bested me. The thought makes me restless and uneasy.

A knock at the door. My temporary remedy.

"Come in."

Marisol enters, her reddened face recently splashed with water. Alma appears to have sent her straight from the scullery.

"How may I please you, master?" she giggles. Her fingers wrap around her stays.

The false lightness in her step is unappealing, but I need to clear my head.

I motion her closer, "Remove my trousers."

She rushes over and begins fumbling with my belt. Her lips tremble as she fits the strap through the buckle. After carefully unsheathing my lower half, she looks up at me expectantly.

I run a hand through her hair.

"Suck."

She gets to work eagerly, taking my entire length in her mouth without complaint or expectation. There is no need for kissing or the shared intimacy of undressing.

Marisol is perfectly content to service me fully clothed. Being chosen for the master is honor enough. Marisol wets my cock with wide, doe eyes, my pleasure, her only desire. As her skilled tongue skitters up and down my shaft, a plan seizes upon me, a plan so brilliant that it almost finishes me.

This should be the fate of Catherine de Guînes. Take the proud, aristocratic girl and turn her into a mindless whore.

Perhaps my initial plan requires some tweaking. No matter how much I might enjoy it, I cannot force her. She must know that her new station is her own doing, that she betrays her family for the touch of a man who despises everything about her. Many aspects of our former relationship may have been lies, but I witnessed her toes curling back when I entered her. With a firm hand, I will train her to crave my cock and nothing else. Like Marisol, I'll soon have her begging to be used.

I shove myself further down Marisol's throat and watch as she bobs for air with a stupefied expression on her face. Her knees creak against the floorboards. The pace is unaffected as she buries herself further into my groin.

The thought of Catherine in the same position sends me over the edge.

I release my grip on Marisol's hair as my seed spills down her throat. Red finger marks line her chest. The poor thing has been pinching her nipples raw trying to compensate for the lack of attention. Pitiful. She can finish the job in some broom closet later tonight.

The girl will not be so lucky. Perhaps I'll have a chastity belt fashioned so she won't be able to receive pleasure without me.

Marisol slurps at the residue still dripping from the shaft. She wipes her jaw clean with the edge of her sleeve.

"Good girl," I say, emotionlessly.

Maybe one day I'll invite the Guînes family to watch their daughter lap up my come.

Chapter 20: Facing the Enemy - Catherine's Perspective

A single morsel of light at the top of the stairs forces its way through the grate. I've finally learned what's beyond the locked door beneath the staff kitchen. Surely, they'll be mocking me over supper. The Trio will find special joy in my demise. It's hard to say that I don't deserve it. If I wasn't dangling from the ceiling, I'd ram my head against the bars.

I had a connection with Rafael. A genuine connection. And I chose to trust his slimy advisor.

I made no mention of Sebastián's betrayal while I was being hauled away. What would it have helped? Down into the pit, I went. Upon my arrival, the metal bars of this enclosure screeched with delight as if they had been waiting to imprison me. I was stood up in the middle of a cage, my wrists bound by shackles and suspended from a hanging chain. Velasquez's men cranked me higher and higher until the balls of my feet were forced into limited contact with the ground. They were all brutes, shredding my wonderful lilac gown and fondling my breasts as if they were at a meat market.

Rafael was going to free me. He thought I was some French village nobody, some penniless runaway bride, and he was still going to set me free.

One more day, and I could have sworn to make peace between our peoples. One more day, and I could have told him all the ways he's affected me. For such a selfless act, he could be forgiven his previous brutality. We could have moved forward as equals.

Instead, I am left with the clang of an iron door with not so much as a torch to keep me company. My silk slippers are gone. Only the silver chain hangs around my neck.

Beyond the fear, in the many hours of waiting, there is boredom, boredom that eclipses even what I experienced on a still evening in my parents' home. Had I never ventured beyond my place, I would have the fruits of a porcelain empire at my disposal. I could have lavish parties and command a fleet of ships and servants alike. In my current predicament, I have naught to do but listen to the rats raking their claws over the stone floor. Their desperate scratching grinds at my nerves and degrades my hopes. If there was a way out of here, surely, they would have already found it.