"Real courage is when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what." Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

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*TW mentions of sexual violence*

XXII.

Susanna had seen the ocean before, though she hardly thought the seaside at Brighton compared to the vastness of the open water. The horizon met the sea and it did truly look infinite.

Seeing the ocean in its glory each day did momentarily distract from the seriousness of her business aboard the ship. And it did not deter her thoughts for long. The days seemed impossibly long and each mile covered longer still.

"Susanna, you must wake me if you are to come above deck. You cannot be unescorted."

Adam's voice startled Susanna, and she turned to see her brother joining her at the bow of the passenger ship. His eyes were weary, and she was certain that her own would appear much the same.

"I hardly think that matters now," murmured Susanna as she folded her arms across her chest, before she immediately felt guilty for dismissing her brother.

Susanna would never forget what Adam had done for her.

It had been two months, or thereabouts, since Susanna had learned that Mr Bishop had sold Alex to smugglers who were bound for the British Virgin Islands. It had been that long at least since she had slept without nightmares that plagued her with worry as to what he was enduring.

The minute Susanna had learned of Alex's fate she had been determined to go after him, to do whatever she could to recover him regardless of her own safety.

Adam had known this. Not long after Susanna had made up her mind to find her way to the Caribbean, he had voiced his own intention to escort her. Adam had left his wife to help Susanna. His daughters. She knew he loved his family beyond words, and though he would never say it, it severely hurt him to be parted with them for so long. Susanna knew that she would never be able to repay him.

Adam had written Grace to inform her of their plans, and he and Susanna had travelled post-haste to Southampton to board the first vessel to the British Virgin Islands. Their carriage was then sent back to Hertfordshire with Argent in tow.

What Susanna had not foreseen was the superstitions of sailors. The only ships travelling to the British Virgin Islands, or anywhere in the Caribbean, that were not Navy ships were merchant vessels. A woman on board was simply notacceptable.

So, instead, Adam had secured them passage on a vessel carrying migrants to the Colonies, and they were bound for a place called New Orleans. From there, Adam planned to bribe their way onto an American ship, hoping that they were less superstitious than the British seamen.

Perhaps part of her anguish was that she was not travelling directly to where Alex would be. Would she be too late by the time she finally found her way to the British Virgin Islands? And what would 'too late' even mean? Would he be dead?

Visions of Alex's back covered in lashing scars suddenly filled Susanna's mind and she clamped her eyes shut, so as to will them away. She couldn't allow herself to think that way.

"What if we'd listened?" whispered Susanna. "What if we had allowed him to speak that day? What if I had believed him?"

Susanna had asked her brother these questions a thousand times.

"Susanna, I wouldn't have let you," Adam uttered. "After the revelations of that day, there was no way Alex was remaining on Ashwood property regardless of the truth. There was nothing you could do. The one to blame is Mr Bishop and you know it."

"If he dies ..."

"He won't die," Adam said with determination. "If I have learned anything from him, it is that he is a proud free man. He won't die in chains."

How ever he might fight, Susanna knew of the evils of masters. She had seen the evidence with her own eyes. Alex bore the scars of a master who had butchered a child. She had no idea of what these cruel men would do to a grown man. She could only pray that Alex was strong enough to hold on, to wait for her to come.

***

Since the day he secured his freedom, Alex had never thought that he would walk behind a white man as his property once again. It was perhaps even more dehumanising than the auction itself.

He drove a buggy with a white canopy, pulled by a chestnut coloured horse. He kept the horse at a walk. Perhaps a small mercy considering that Alex and Belle were tethered to the buggy like dogs. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex could see that Belle was staring, almost glaring at their new master with fear and revulsion.

Belle caught Alex's gaze and whispered, "Dis à l'homme que je suis une sorcière."

Alex recoiled and quickly made an effort to mask his shock lest their master turn to see the interaction.

"What did she say?" he barked, clearly hearing Belle.

Alex was thankful that he did not speak French. How foolish Belle would have been had he understood their French. He certainly was not going to relay Belle's message. What good would it do for their master to believe her a witch?

"S'il me touche, je maudirai sa virilité et le castrerai."

Alex nearly choked on his tongue. Belle did not realise how fortunate she was that this man did not speak French. What ever would he do if he knew that his newest slave had threatened to curse his manhood?

But his shock was quickly replaced by sympathy for Belle's fears. She was trying to protect herself with the only power that she felt she had. The other slaves on the ship had believed her to be a witch. Her eyes truly were an extraordinary colour and did look hypnotising. It was not hard to understand why those might believe her to be a witch.

"She asks how much farther," lied Alex smoothly.

The master abruptly pulled on the reins and his horse stopped. Both Alex and Belle were jolted forward with the sudden stop of momentum. He jumped down from the driver's seat and sauntered around to the rear, an unnerving expression upon his face.

Alex felt the blood drain from his face as he realised that he had said the wrong thing. He had angered the master. He had been in this position before. Only it was not him that was to receive punishment. He was standing before Belle, looking down upon her.

Belle was frozen, her hands bound together in front of her as Alex's was, her feet frozen stuck to the dirt road.

"You are to be my wife's house negro. The last one was ... how would you put it? Worn out," he murmured.

Alex knew that Belle could not understand a word he said, but his tone was enough to terrify her. Alex felt violently sick to his stomach as the master reached up and brushed Belle's cheek with the back his knuckles. She flinched away from his touch. He then abruptly slapped her, the force of his hand knocking her to the ground.

"No!" cried Alex, pulling on his rope.

The master looked to him briefly, chuckling, before turning his attention back to Belle who was on the ground, dazed from the strike.

"My wife doesn't like me to do this in the house," he continued, his voice sending a chill down Alex's spine. He knelt down and rested a hand on Belle's ankle, running it up her leg and taking her skirt with it.

"DON'T TOUCH HER!" roared Alex as he pulled on his ropes with every bit of violent strength that he had. The buggy shook with his force, but he couldn't wrench himself free as he became a powerless onlooker to the horror scene that was about to unfold. The very invasion that he had promised himself to spare Belle was about to happen because of him.

"You really could have been a beauty if you weren't a negro, you know? A shame, really." He finally forced Belle's skirts up to her hips as she regained some coherency from his strike.

Belle's eyes widened with panic as she kicked out her legs, once, twice, before finally making rushed contact with his groin. The master cried out in pain as he doubled over, holding onto his manhood with a pathetic cry as Belle scrambled to get to her feet.

But she couldn't get far. He grabbed hold of her ankle and pulled her to the ground with a violent thud. He then dragged her back to him along the dirt road, her bound arms scrambling to grab hold of anything that could help her.

Alex pulled and pulled at his own bonds, his wrists screaming, as he tried to free himself.

Belle kicked again as hard as she could, her heel landing in the master's gullet as he forced her legs down and then wide. Belle screamed as she struggled, but the master was stronger than her.

Alex saw the fear, and he saw the repeated horror on Belle's face as he knew that this was not the first time. She was fighting, but she would lose. Her skirts were once again pushed out of the way and Alex saw the master adjust his own breeches. No.

"Tuez-moi. S'il vous plaît! Dieu, s'il vous plaît."

Once again, she begged for God to kill her, and with one last mighty pull, Alex managed to wrench himself free, the rope pooling at Alex's feet with the metal bar his and Belle's tethers had been attached to. Alex had pulled it clean off of the buggy.

He didn't think but to spare Belle as he grabbed the end of the rope. His hands were still bound but he was able to use them to wrap the rope around the neck of the master, viciously pulling him off of Belle and backwards into the dirt.

The master might have been stronger than Belle, and perhaps he might have been stronger than Alex, but something was flowing through his veins that was giving him strength in his weakened state. He held the rope tightly around the master's neck as he struggled in vain. His kicks and struggles grew feeble as he gargled his last ounce of air.

And then the master stilled.

Alex's heart was hammering in his chest as he realised what he had done. It was not murder. He knew it not to be murder, but defence. Defence of a woman, one of whom would have been attacked by this very man. But the law wouldn't see that. The law wouldn't see anything, but a white man killed by a black man.

Alex was a dead man, or he would be very soon. There was a noose with his name on it.

Belle slowly righted herself, sitting up in the dirt as silent tears fell down her face. She stared at the master in frightened hatred as she pulled her skirt down to cover her legs properly.

Alex searched the pockets of the master and was pleased when he found a steel switchblade. He made quick work of his own bonds before bringing the knife over to Belle and kneeling down before her.

His instinct was to take her hands, to cut through her ties, but Alex stopped himself. He couldn't take any liberties. It wasn't right. Belle had a right to give permission. "May I?"

Belle tentatively nodded and lifted her hands. They were shaking almost uncontrollably. Alex enveloped them both in on of his large hands and cut through her rope with the other. The moment she was free, Alex released her.

Alex looked back at the master who was lying in the dirt where he belonged. Regardless of the fact that his soul was now burning in hell, Alex and Belle were the ones in mortal danger.

"We have to get off of this island."

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I hope you enjoyed it! 

I just want good things for both my Alex and my Belle. And then of course my Susanna. Why do I feel this horrid need to make them suffer so?

I'll see you next week. Can't ramble on tonight. I'm exhuastedddddd and need some sleep xx

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