Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(77)

“Yes, you were.” His fingernails dug into her arm as he pushed her ahead of him up the stairs. “You were very wrong.”

“But I’m still waiting for Jean.”

“It appears to me that you gave up that right when you decided to fornicate with his brother and half the other men on the island.”

Shame slapped Angelique in the face, the same shame that had lurked in her heart over the past couple of weeks. She wanted the dark stairwell to swallow her and put an end to her misery.

Ebenezer forced her over to the ladder that led to the dormer room. “It’s time I found you a husband.”

She groped for the rungs. “Please don’t make me marry someone else. I’ve repented and I promise I’ll be better. I promise I won’t sin again.”

In the darkness between them, his breathing was heavy with the odor of rum. The heat of his mouth came near her. Then in one sweeping motion he wrenched away from her. “Get to your room.”

She scrambled up, knowing she needed to get away from him before he grabbed her again.

“And stay there!” he shouted after her. “You’ll stay there until I find you a husband.”





Chapter

21



Pierre wiggled his toes, and sharp tingles like a hundred porcupine quills shot through his legs. It was all the movement he could manage.

The first week that he’d been in the Black Hole, he’d tried to keep moving. At times he’d made himself stand and stomp from one foot to the other, to keep the blood flowing and bring warmth into his limbs. Even though he’d had to stoop in the oddly shaped hole, at least he’d been able to move from the cramped sitting position.

But as the days had passed with only a crust or two of bread, and with only a scant amount of water—just enough to keep him alive—he became too weak to muster the energy needed to raise himself off the dirt floor and out of his own filth.

In the complete blackness he’d lost track of time. He guessed that at least two weeks had elapsed since he’d been arrested. The last time the hatch had been opened, going by the weakening of the sun’s rays, he figured it was nearing the end of August.

He hadn’t expected to languish in the pit quite so long. But apparently Lieutenant Steele wanted to kill him slowly and painfully. And after the torture of the past days, every time the chain on the trapdoor rattled, he prayed it would finally be time to face the execution squad.

He was ready to put an end to the hunger, the stench, the pain in his cramped limbs, and the struggle for every breath in the diminished oxygen of the pit. He was ready to meet his Maker.

He’d had little else to do in the Black Hole except pray. He’d begged God to forgive him for his stupidity in how he’d handled his part in the war. He’d played both sides. He’d had his feet in two fires, and as Red Fox had once warned, he’d gotten burned.

With a groan he shifted his back against the cold dirt wall. Thankfully, the bloody gashes had dried and begun to heal. But they’d caused him agony for many days.

A jangle on the lock above brought his head up. He peered through the blackness, but couldn’t see anything but the thin cracks around the door that offered only the scantest of light.

Was it time?

His weak heartbeat sputtered with hope.

The chains clinked together until finally the trapdoor creaked open, letting in a sliver of light and fresh air.

For a moment the faint light blinded him, and he could only blink. At last he could make out the outline of a face above him.

“Good. I see you’re still alive” came Lieutenant Steele’s voice.

“You’ll have to shoot me if you want to kill me,” Pierre said weakly.

Through watering eyes, Pierre stared beyond the lieutenant’s head, soaking in the clear evening sky that was turning into the deeper blue that came before sunset. He took a gulp of the fresh air that surged down into the pit, giving him blessed relief from the stench for an instant.

“Thirsty?” the lieutenant said.

Pierre didn’t respond.

The lieutenant dangled a bucket down toward him.

Pierre wanted to reach for it, but before he could get his arms to work, the lieutenant tipped it and dumped the water, letting it pour over Pierre’s head. It ran in rivulets down Pierre’s face, and he opened his cracked lips to catch every drop he could.

The lieutenant laughed. Pierre was too thirsty to care. In the distance came faint shouts of laughter and celebrating.

“Do you hear that?” the lieutenant asked. “That’s the sound of victory.”

“Congratulations,” Pierre said sarcastically.

“We’ve broken the American blockade. Our troops managed to sneak up on the Tigress and overpower her. And once they were in control of the Tigress, it was only a matter of time before they were able to capture the Scorpion too.”

The news hit Pierre like an avalanche of boulders. Captain Croghan and Sinclair had returned to Detroit in the Niagara along with the wounded, including Jean. But Pierre had placed hope in the remaining American ships to bring an end to the British domination in the Great Lakes. He hadn’t wanted the islanders to suffer, yet he’d hoped the British would get hungry enough to give the island back to the Americans.

He’d wanted Jean to be able to return and take care of Maman and Angelique before winter set in. Especially since he’d be dead and wouldn’t be there to help them.