Escaping Barbados

Q ueenie tugged down the front of her blouse to reveal the tops of dusky nipples, took the bottle of rum handed to her by Goliath, and left the dark alley beside the Bridgetown jail. As she expected, the sentry on guard duty outside was so distracted by her overflowing breasts, he took a swig of rum and never saw Goliath's fist coming.

Heart beating wildly, she followed her uncle and his comrades into the jail.

Goliath nudged her forward when they encountered two corpulent guards seated at a table playing cards. She pressed a finger to her lips when one of the guards half rose from his chair. "Don't be alarmed," she cooed, holding up the bottle. "Your friend outside thought you might like to sample what he just enjoyed."

Relief surged when he sat down heavily, but then he reached out and gathered her to his side. "I'd like to sample ye," he said, his eyes fixed on her breasts. The stench of his breath was overwhelming, his arm like a vise. His grip slackened when Goliath coshed him. The other fat guard made an effort to rise but was quickly subdued. Goliath relieved him of his keys and set off to look for Thorne's cell.

Thorne was dozing, almost grateful a condemned white man apparently merited a cell of his own. He sat up on the edge of the wooden ledge when scurrying sounds and subdued voices snagged his attention.

He grinned when Goliath's face emerged from the gloom. "Time to go, English," the giant said as the key clunked open the lock's tumblers.

Thorne hurried out of the cell, elated to find Queenie and a group of Roma men waiting to escort them. He took her into his embrace and kissed her with all the desperate love in his heart.

"No time to waste," Goliath said. "Someone will notice the outer guard is unconscious."

"We need to head to the docks," Thorne said urgently. "The Mighty Oak sails on the tide."

No sooner had they exited the jail when a whistle sounded. A man dressed in the uniform of a member of the feared Barbados militia ran out of the gloom. "Stop," he yelled, brandishing his truncheon.

One of Goliath's comrades signaled the way to the docks, then he and his companions set off in the opposite direction, the militiaman in hot pursuit.

If Thorne hadn't taken hold of her hand, Queenie would have faltered. They ran so fast, her lungs were ready to burst. Whistles and shouts indicated the militia had realized the two groups had gone separate ways and some were now following them.

When they reached the docks, Thorne scooped her up and carried her aboard a big ship docked there. Goliath followed, hard on their heels.

Captain Johnson met them at the top of the gangplank. "Welcome aboard, My Lady, Gentlemen," he said. "Smithers here will lead you to your cabins."

Queenie looked back. Their pursuers were scurrying up the gangplank. Johnson pointed a pistol. "This is a British ship, Gentlemen," he declared. "Proceed at your peril."

They turned tail and retreated when he fired over their heads and the clipper lurched away from the dock.

Still breathless, Queenie clung to Thorne as he followed Smithers below decks. Goliath stayed on deck. She wished she could stay with him to watch Barbados recede into the distance, knowing they would never be able to set foot on the island again.

Thorne gently deposited Queenie on the bunk in the small cabin. He was supremely grateful to her and Goliath. They'd saved him from certain death. In doing so, they'd sealed their own fate. "I'm sorry," he said, peeling her arms from around his neck.

"Sorry for what?" she asked, shining eyes wide with wanting.

"You're aboard a ship bound for England and you can never return to Barbados. You've had to abandon your home because of me and I can't tell you…"

She silenced him with a kiss.

"…how grateful…"

This time she delved her tongue into his mouth. Her tongue mated with his. Desire spiked, but he had to make things right. "Marry me, Queenie," he urged, forcing her back. "Be my wife."

She propped herself up on her elbows. "Do you ask because you are a gentleman or because you love me?"

He raked his gaze over pouting breasts, at nipples protesting the confinement of the fabric. "I love and want you as much as you love and want me," he replied seductively.

"Then you love me indeed," she said coyly, toying with the laces at the neck of his shirt. "I consent, but you must ask Goliath for permission."

Thorne groaned inwardly. There was no chance her uncle would agree. "Let's go up on deck to find him," he suggested, holding little hope in his heart.

Goliath would deny permission, so Queenie would just have to change his mind. Her people would condemn her for loving a white man, but she didn't care. Without Thorne she would have no life.

Out on the deck, they found Goliath deep in conversation with the captain.

"This splendid chap and I were just talking about the sea," Johnson explained. "I was telling him about my life as a captain."

"Aye," her uncle said, eyes bright. "Sounds like a fine life, traveling to different places all over the world."

Queenie was intrigued. She'd never known Goliath show much interest in anything, but he seemed unusually enthused about…of course! Wandering was something they weren't allowed to do on Barbados. She turned to Thorne. "Would there be a chance of my uncle securing a position with your family's shipping company?"

"If Niven King is still in charge, I'm sure there'd be no problem," he replied, offering his hand to Goliath. "Especially when I put in a good word for the man who saved my life."

Her uncle took Thorne's hand and shook it vigorously. "Queenie would never forgive me if we'd left you to die."

Hope blossomed in her heart. She winked at Thorne, trusting he would understand the signal.

"Well, I'm grateful, and I would ask permission to wed your niece."

Her heart rejoiced. He'd seized the moment.

"Capital!" Johnson exclaimed. "I can do the honors for you, if you wish. A wedding at sea is so romantic. "

Her uncle's frown betrayed his hesitation, but he clearly had no choice. Queenie threw herself into his arms when he voiced his approval of the marriage.