The Duke's Daughter -Wattys2014 Collector's Dream Award Winner-

Chapter Sixty One

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Nothing to say? Oh, he had plenty to say, but he doubted she wanted to hear a single thought that currently occupied his mind. She was slightly sitting upon him, her knees rested on either side of his hips. Her bottom, clothed only in the thin boys breeches, resting upon his lap. Her hand bore her weight upon his chest, pinning him in place. Her breasts, all but free beneath the loose shirt, swayed temptingly before his face. Derek felt all moisture flee the cavern of his mouth.

If her body wasn't enough of a distraction, her face certainly was. Her eyes swirled in an angry emerald storm, her lips were compressed into a challenging straight line, but even the severe expression could not hide their natural bow or their soft fullness. Her hair was a loose mess of curls around them, most likely knocked loose from it's binds by their fall...

His blood cooled, he broke from the spell her beauty had cast upon him, as he remembered his reason for tackling her to begin with.

"You are right, I owe you an explanation. However, I am owed one as well." His voice was cold with an emotion she could not name, but she could feel the tightening of every muscle beneath her. 'Twas then she realized her unladylike perch atop him.

She scrambled off of him and was none too gentle about it. He exhaled sharply as her elbow found a lax muscle beneath his ribs.

"I owe you an explanation?!" She was all fire standing above him. "Your audacity astounds me. I have kept no secrets from you in the time I've known you, yet you fail to even tell me who you are? I trusted you and you were lying to me the entire time! I owe you nothing!"
With that, she spun on her heel and made to run back towards the beach. Derek was on his feet and he caught her up in his arms, with one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her back, before she had taken three full strides.

"Put me down!"

Derek ignored her yell as easily as he ignored her struggles to free herself.
Derek spotted Betsy, standing wide eyed, nervously shifting the pistol from hand to hand.

"Target practice is over. If you ever comply with a stunt like I witnessed earlier again, you will be without employment and without a letter of recommendation. Do I make myself clear?"

Betsy nodded, her face downturned. "Yes, my lord."

"You have no right to threaten my maid! How dare you?"

Derek looked down at the woman in his arms, but he spoke loud enough that Betsy could hear, "I dare because I will not have you play with your life for a mornings entertainment, my dear. Apparently our opinions differ, but I was looking forward to our upcoming nuptials."

Arianna felt her face heat with her anger. The only thing that seemed apparent to her was his dismissive demeanor.

"Who is to say that..."

"Arianna." He cut her short. "I intend to discuss this fully with you. I do however, prefer to do so in private. Dismiss your maid before I do it for you."

"Ugh!" Arianna glared at him and, if looks could kill, he should be a smoldering pile of ashes at her feet.

"Betsy, go find Alejandro and tell him I need him to come speak some sense to his captain."

"And when you find him, Betsy," Derek added, "have him show you how to properly clean that firearm."

The girl nodded once, before she turned and fled the scene as quickly as possible.

*****
Alejandro followed the Duchess back into camp and smiled when Roman spotted him. His son's eyes grew large as he grabbed at his mother's hand to gain her attention.

"Mamà! Papà is back!" He then dropped his mother's hand, running across the sand at full speed. The boy stopped a foot short of his father, suddenly unsure of what he should do.

Alejandro dropped to a knee and held his arms out. Roman almost knocked his father over as he threw himself into Alejandro's waiting arms.

Alejandro held his son close, the boy's childlike smell filling his senses and his firm grip warming his father's heart. When Alejandro lifted his eyes to Carmelita's over Roman's head, he saw tears in her eyes, her brilliant smile reflected his elation.

"I was worried about you, Papà!" Roman scolded with a frown.

Alejandro leaned back to look into his son's eyes, "Never worry about me. Now that I have you and your mother back, not heaven or earth can keep me from you."

"Do you promise, Papá?"

"Yes, son, you are my heart."

Roman embraced his father tightly once more, before he went back to his mother's side.

"Sir."

Alejandro turned to see a senior crewman standing at attention. He nodded and the crewman nodded back.

"'Tis glad ta have ya back, we are, Sir. Cook wants ta know if we're sendin' food to Bailey."

The Duchess was a few steps away, she turned her attention to the crewman. "I believe I instructed your cook to only give him bread every other morning. Was my instruction lost in translation?"

Alejandro quirked a brow, a smirk formed upon his face as he transferred his amused gaze from the Duchess to the crewman. The sea weathered man almost visibly withered into a guilty youth under the Duchess' challenging stare.

"Well, your grace, the cook thinks bein' tied to a palm tree is torture 'nough." The man put his hands up before him as the Duchess' jaw hardened, "'Twasn't my idea, your grace, I'm just a messenger."

"Well, then," the Duchess replied, as she lifted her chin and the hem of her skirts, "I am off to speak with your cook."

Alejandro laughed heartily, gaining the crewman's attention once more. "Ya don't mind her bossin' e'eryone 'round?"

Alejandro turned an assessing look upon the crewman, "Are you going to be the one to tell her to stop?"

Alejandro did not wait for a reply. He began to inspect the camp and was thoroughly impressed with the design and construction. When he asked a crewman who had lead the construction of the camp, he had not been surprised to hear that the Duchess had taken charge there as well.

Alejandro smiled as he shook his head, he rather liked the Duchess and her take charge attitude. He would, however, keep in mind that her attention was not pointed in his direction at present.

"Sénior Alejandro?"

He turned to find Arianna's maid shaking, a firearm in her hands.

"What is it, Betsy?"

"My lady told me to come find you because she needed you to speak some sense to your captain. Your captain then told me to ask you to teach me how to properly clean this firearm."

Alejandro's brow raised as his arms folded across his chest, "They were arguing. Over what?"

"Well," Betsy retold the conversation she had heard, but had not fully understood. 'Twas not surprising, as the maid had not been around her lady much lately.

Alejandro brought a hand to his chin and thought for a moment. "Well, cleaning a firearm is never a good thing to do while you are nervous, so Betsy, why don't you calm yourself and I shall go check on the captain and the Lady."

"Yes, sir." Betsy replied with a small curtsy.

Alejandro went to his wife to inform her of his intentions before he moved off into the forest to begin his search.

*****

The Duchess had had enough with the Frenchman's evasive arguments and theatrics.

"Come," she nearly snarled, "I will show you why."

Surprisingly, the Frenchman fell into step beside her as she led him down to the beach. They were about fifty paces from the group of women and children that were congregated on the sand, when she stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

"That young woman," she pointed to Margaret, who sat on the sand with a towel draped over her shoulder, as she nursed her infant. The girl's face still carried faint bruises from the night she was ordered to attend the Admiral. "That young woman," she began again, "was forcefully impregnated with that babe and beaten frequently while she carried it. Just two weeks after the babe was born, she was ordered, by our prisoner, to attend the needs of a very cruel man."

The Frenchman's face was unusually pale, "And the bruises, Madam?"

"Are a product of that order." The Duchess nodded, she took a few steps towards a large rock and daintily arranged her skirts as she sat upon it. "While that girl was heavy with his child, Bailey ordered that she be locked in the dungeons and fed only every other morning, because she accidentally dropped a plate when she felt her child kick for the first time. He left her down there for twenty three days before he would forget the matter."

She watched his jaw tighten and a vein began to throb at his temple. "That same man, took a whip to your first mate's wife, because he had believed she had warned my daughter not to drink the wine he had poisoned."

The Frenchman turned to the Duchess and raised a brow. The Duchess simply lifted her own brow. "I do not lie, Monsieur, but you may ask any one of these ladies," she swept a hand to encompass the women and children, "Or those men there," She pointed to the freed men who had accompanied them as well, "If my word is not enough."

Just then, one of the men the Duchess had indicated, removed his shirt to wet it in the surf. The white scars, that were the product of a whip, contrasted greatly with his otherwise sun darkened skin. The Frenchman's face visibly paled once more.

"I shall concede the point to you. The prisoner will only be fed every other morning."

"Merci." The Duchess smiled and nodded. The Frenchman helped her from her perch upon the rock and nodded back before he moved back to his makeshift kitchen.

The Duchess spied Betsy as she slipped into the women's tent visibly pale. Glancing around, she spotted neither Arianna or Trent. The Spaniard was missing as well.

Well, damnation, where had they all gone off to?