Beyond paradise by Copyright Paperback Collection (Library of Congress) DLC, Elizabeth Doyle

setting sun. They were filling with evening wind, but unable to flow because of the anchor which held them at bay. A strip of peach gleamed on the horizon, cutting across a navy sky which collided with the turquoise waves. It all seemed just a backdrop, a stage for the starring vessel, as ominous in its frantic rocking as it was glorious with its holy, golden glow. "Is that a pirate ship?" she asked, a sleepy, dazed look in her eye.
    The pirate did not answer.
    She turned to face him. "Is that a pirate ship?"
    "Yes," he replied. It had been a long time since they'd spoken. His silky voice, his awkwardly precise pronunciation surprised her again, as though she'd never heard it before.
    kw It is beautiful." She wrapped herself tightly in her cloak, warming herself from the evening wind, relaxing against his chest. It had been an adventure she would never forget. In fact, she was not even sorry for it. She had wanted to taste

    Elizabeth Doyle
    life before she waved good-bye to it in the form of marriage, and so she had. She had witnessed a grand escape, felt the fear of being held captive, the tender and tickling sensation of riding horseback so near a man's lap. And finally, she had seen a pirate vessel. She sighed a wonderful sigh. "Strangely, sir, I am glad to have met you." But he did not seem to hear.
    He was signaling the pirate vessel, which in turn was lowering lifeboats. "They'll pick me up now," he said, "and take me to the ship. Just as soon as I'm safely on my way, you can go." He leaped from Monique and helped Sylvie down. There was soft delight in his woodsy eyes, and Sylvie understood it. The ship must have been home to him, for he looked as one who would finally find peace. Sylvie stroked Monique's mane with affection. What an adventure they'd had together.
    "Ahoy!" called someone from the boat, but the pirate did not respond until they began waving. At that point, he returned the wave fervently with both tanned arms.
    "I don't think I ever even learned your name," she mentioned, fearing that he was about to depart, and that she would never know the name of the pirate in this story of a lifetime.
    He squinted at her from the corner of his eye, still grinning at his shipmates, only gradually granting her his full attention. "I'm sorry. What?"
    "I said I don't know your name."
    "Oh, uh ... Jacques. Jacques Dupree."
    To both of their surprise, the little boats were carrying not only a few ordinary crew, but a man who could only have been the very captain of the ship. Even Sylvie could tell that. While the others wore old cotton shirts with the arms torn off, breeches that did not fit, and kerchiefs around their brows, this man was dressed in fine black silk and a matching hat. His dark hair was long, luxurious, and natural. He wore no wig. Sylvie had seen enough Spaniards to know that's what he
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    was. He was impressive, in a frightening sort of a way, and handsome, in an untouchable sense. Jacques looked as surprised to see him as Sylvie was. When the rugged sailors tugged their boats through the sand, he greeted them all with affectionate punches and a curl to his lightly stubbled lip that made Sylvie bite hers. Then he turned respectfully to his captain, who was being helped to shore like a king, and said in a language Sylvie did not understand, "Sir, it was not necessary to row to shore with the men. I am honored, but I am sorry for your trouble. I would have come aboard soon enough/'
    The captain replied, "I wanted to see you. I feared you would not escape this time, that you would be dead for certain."
    Jacques lifted a corner of his mouth. "Well, as you can see, I am fine." He scratched his strong chest. "A little thirsty, though."
    Captain Roberto chuckled. "I think it's fair that we should have you for a veritable feast this evening. We've all missed you. We were just about to give up, and I'm glad we did not." He patted his sailor affectionately on the raw back.
    One of the men made