by Holland Rae
“No, captain,” he sneered, and that hurt far more than it should have—a pinch in her chest that Catalina knew would be difficult to reconcile. “That’s all.” And then he was out the door, slamming it behind him.
Chapter Nine
Armand was feeling particularly irritable when the ship pulled into port upon a small island the following morning. In addition to going most of the night without sleep, he had spent several hours considering and reconsidering the words of his old friend turned pirate she-captain, words he had still not managed to comprehend, even as the sun rose over the glossy horizon and the crewmembers filed aboard the deck to join the late-night hands.
What the devil had she meant by blaming him for the way her sister had been treated upon the marriage mart in London? And what the devil was she doing with a ship full of runaways and vagabonds? She couldn’t possibly run the system for long—where would the money come from? What if something happened to her?
He tried not to consider the possibility that something could happen to her. After all, Charlotte Talbot would have been a woman to worry about. Charlotte Talbot would have needed a parasol in the sun, and a chamber to herself below the deck. But this was a woman who could do more than manage on her own. This was a woman who made the rules and decisions that others followed. She didn’t need his protection, and she most certainly didn’t need his sympathy.
They finished docking the ship, and Catalina called to the crew, reminding them all to be back aboard by the time the sun was high in the sky. They were on an errand, and it wouldn’t take long.
Catalina didn’t give him permission to follow, but neither did she stop him, as she rounded a small turn and walked into a pub called the Squid and Swell. The floors were slick with ale, and the single room smelled only a shade better than a privy. He didn’t want to trust her, but somewhere along the way, he had come to believe that Captain Catalina Sol did everything for a good reason.
“Attention, my good men,” she said, walking through the door of the pub with all the fanfare of a jester preparing to take to the stage and all the confidence of a pirate seizing a ship. “If I might have all your attention, please.” The room, despite the level of noise that had been emanating from drunken sailors and buccaneers only a moment before, fell to a pin-drop silence in an instant. For a moment, Armand allowed himself to be curious about her plan, but then he heard a man at the bar mumble to the person beside him.
“That’s Catalina Sol, that is.”
Armand’s eyebrow nearly flew into his hair. Was her reputation so far reaching as to be able to quiet an entire tavern of vagabond men? The other man’s response gave answer to Armand’s internal question.
“I heard she killed ten men with a single pistol,” the man replied, low and nervous. “And she did it without taking a shot.” That, Armand had a difficult time believing, but even he could appreciate a good rumor when he heard one.
“My friends,” Catalina was saying now, for all the room like a politician in the British House of Lords, “we are looking for a man by the name of Henri de Bourbon, second son of Winston de Bourbon, and recently kidnapped.”
Armand could hear the room’s collective breath, as if anyone who interrupted her might doom them all. Good God, was this powerful force the same woman who had just told him about protecting the women and babies living on the edges of society?
“If you might happen to know of a man who has information on the young de Bourbon, I would be most pleased to hear it.” She looked around the room, her gaze as powerful and potent as a sea preparing for storms. “As most of you are aware, I’m good for a handsome payout to the man with the information I seek.”
This appeared to be the end of her small speech, and Armand followed her to the bar just across the room. As they settled into two stools and ordered large tankards of watery ale, Armand found he could no longer keep his curiosity hidden.
“What do we do now?” he asked her, looking around the room, as if expecting his brother to walk through the damned door at any moment, which was, of course, a fantasy. Catalina stared straight ahead and sipped at her drink.
“Now we wait,” she said, a note of exhaustion slipping into her voice. “Oh, for God’s sake, Armand, stop looking around.”
He turned to her.
“Just be patient. You’ll know if I need you.”
He didn’t like the thought of it, of not being needed, of allowing another person—hell, a lady of society—to be the one in charge of the dangerous decisions. But he knew he had to give in. He was not the man in charge right now. She was, and if he had any hope of retrieving Henri alive, he was damn well going to listen to what she had to say. It didn’t matter if that thought pained him more than he could say.
As it turned out, Armand didn’t need to wait very long for Catalina’s efforts to bear fruit. They were sitting in silence, nursing their drinks, more for something to do than anything, when there was a resounding click behind them, a click Armand recognized all too well.
“Gentlemen.” Catalina said it without turning around, and Armand could see out of the corner of his eye that two men were standing behind them now. One had a gun squarely tucked against her back, and his finger was cocking it, even as she spoke. “How kind of you to join us.”
How the hell was her voice so calm? He was certain the whole pub could hear his heart pounding in his chest. He had been on the receiving end of a pistol’s attentions and knew the feeling of wondering whether you might live to see another day all too well. That her voice was both steady, and even slightly arrogant, was a testament to her power as a fighter, Armand realized.
“Pity you were just leaving,” the man with the gun said, his voice tinged with an Irish accent—that of the gruff, uneducated seaman.
“You must have mistaken me for someone who takes kindly to threats,” Catalina said, and Armand could see a gleam in her eye from where he sat. It wasn’t fear, however, but something else—excitement. Of course, she would be excited about being held at gunpoint. The rest of the day had been thrown so on its head, why would this be any different?
“And you seem to have mistaken us for men who snitch.”
Armand could see her eyebrow rise, and for some reason, though he didn’t know exactly how, he was certain that Catalina had these two hulking guards exactly where she wanted them. Instead of responding, however, instead of so much as muttering another word, Catalina flung her tankard of ale behind her in a motion so quick that it was over before Armand registered it. It had also caught the man holding the gun completely off guard, and he stumbled, just for a second, but it was enough time for Catalina to grasp his wrist with both hands and shove his hand backwards, until the gun aimed directly between the man’s thighs.
The man was recovering from the ale to the face, which likely stung like the devil, when he realized exactly where Catalina had the gun in his hands pointing.
“I’ll ask you again,” she said, her voice all the more terrifying for its calmness, “do you think I’m a woman who takes kindly to threats?”
With their attention focused upon her, Armand took his opportunity to grab the other man’s wrists, pinning them behind his back. Tied up and humiliated, they looked at her and shook their heads.
“Good answer,” she said, her face devoid of all emotion. “Now, shall we have a chat?” She led the small caravan of four down the hall of the pub and into a room through the very last door. Her hand never left the gun, and the gun never left the man, but she didn’t push and she didn’t shove. Rather, she simply walked them in a line until they stood in the center of the room, the one with his hands tied, the other with a gun aimed somewhere very important.
“I’ll ask just one time, because I am in a hurry,” she began. Her voice was still powerful, steely, and strong, and Armand registered the thought that he never wanted to be on the receiving end of her anger. “Do either of you know the location of Henri de Bourbon?”
The men looked at each other. For all
they both towered above her, their skin decorated with spider webs of tattoos, their faces fierce, they kowtowed in her presence.
“He’ll kill us, he will,” the first man said, his voice small and scared for the very first time since pointing a gun at her. “He’ll kill us tomorrow, if he learns.”
The other man, who had not yet spoken, took that as an opportunity to add, “He probably already knows.”
Armand could see Catalina struggling not to roll her eyes. As a magistrate, he had been to a fair number of questionings, but this one was already shaping up to be the oddest by far.
“You came to me,” she said. “You wish to leave the crew. Don’t deny it. Just tell me your terms.” The two men looked at each other, apprehension crossing both of their faces. Armand watched Catalina’s face, and he felt a strange pang in his heart. Every moment he spent with this woman gave him more insight into the person his oldest friend had become. Not for the first time, he wondered how things would have been different, if they had both followed the paths laid out to them in their infancy. Yet, Armand knew that he would not have married the woman who stood beside him now, if she had stayed in London.
“I can provide protection,” she said flatly, and Armand realized with a start that he was beginning to read her in a way the average stranger might not. One look at Catalina and there would have been no indication at all as to what was on her mind. Except that he was beginning to understand her small quirks and facial expressions. He tried not to think too much into it.
“I can keep you safe from your captain,” she repeated. “Just give me the word.”
There was no denying the piqued interest on the faces of the two men before them. Finally, one of them took a deep breath, exhaling it sharply.
“Might we come work for ye, ma’am?”
Armand started. Did this rough and ready pirate with lice in his beard and three of his front teeth missing actually just call her “ma’am”? A female captain and a woman with softness to her cheeks? Ma’am? Perhaps he had misjudged the situation. Perhaps she wasn’t exactly what he had expected her to be. Ma’am was not a word lightly tossed around pirating circles, and there was never any respect paid to the women who took to a seafaring life. Catalina ruled the sea far more carefully than he had ever thought possible.
And yet, she didn’t do so with force, Armand was beginning to realize. As a magistrate, he had the unhappy task of ensuring that violent offenders and thieves of the high seas saw their due behind bars or at the hangman’s hand. But Catalina Sol, for all her appearance of a pirate, didn’t even seem to have her own pistol at the ready. Armand disliked not knowing, disliked the softening of his feelings toward her, and so he pushed the thought away in favor of watching the scene before him.
“You’ll have to prove yourselves worthy,” she said, a slight arch to the eyebrow that could have only been handed down by generations of British aristocracy. “I need information.” They looked pleased that this was all she needed.
“You’re after a ship called the Lilith,” one of the men whispered, as if even saying it might bring the good pirate captain forward. “A man by the name of Rodgering. He’s who you’re after—wants control of the whole trade route, he does. Thought he could convince the magistrate to call off his dogs if he stole the man’s brother in the middle of the night.” Armand could feel the rage in his veins begin to boil. Henri was the only family that he had left. How dare this man—
But before he got the chance to boil over, to give in to the anger that had been simmering below the surface these past days, Catalina cut in.
“Shall we make a deal, gentlemen?” she asked, and Armand felt his anger begin to simmer. It was likely the first time either of these men had ever been referred to as such in their lives. But despite himself, he grudgingly allowed her to continue doing what she appeared to do best. “You direct us to this Lilith, and the good Captain Rodgering, and we’ll give you safe passage to wherever you would like to go. If you decide in the interim to maintain a position with our crew, I will pass judgment at the appropriate time as to whether that remains an option.”
A look passed between the two men, as their meager understanding grew. Captain Sol drove a damned good bargain, Armand had to admit. The men before them thought they were getting the better side of the deal, whereas she had just convinced two pirates to give up their captain and location. Respect for her tactics grew, and Armand wondered if, perhaps, he had been a little too hasty in judging her role in the great game of seafaring. So she wasn’t quite a soldier, in stead with the king and determined to keep his subjects safe. But she wasn’t quite pirate either. The only weapon he had seen her use was the one that had already been turned against her back. She had only made use of her circumstances.
Armand didn’t want that. He didn’t want to have his feelings for the young captain change into anything, not respect, not understanding, certainly not a long-forgotten affection for a woman he was once destined to spend his life with.
And yet, as he watched her interact with the two men who could very well help bring Henri home, Armand was forced to admit that his feelings might just be changing anyway.
Chapter Ten
The ship was quiet—well, as quiet as a ship of some forty crewmembers and children ever got. But the deckhands were going about their job of making it through the night without incident, and Catalina had several men on watch, keeping a weather eye upon the two supposedly reformed pirates. She had considered, upon their first approach, whether or not she might have walked into a trap. But the men, for all that their information would prove invaluable, were not the sort of characters to whom trickery and deceit might have occurred. She’d be more likely to witness a man sailing his ship upon dry land, than those two attempting to pull the wool over her eyes.
All the same, she had set up two of her own strong crewmembers to keep a surreptitious watch, and with the knowledge that most of the ship was well on their way to a good night’s rest, Catalina could breathe easily.
She couldn’t seem to rest easily, however. In the days since Armand had first met her at the tavern, her dreams had been fraught with memories of home, of Eliza and their townhouse in London and their childhood bedchambers. She could remember the day she thought she had fallen in love with Armand, only to have his mother grow ill and the whole family leave for the far shores of India. Devil take it, until a fortnight earlier, she hadn’t even known he was alive. He had stopped writing letters, stopped posting her small illustrations of where he had traveled and what they had seen. He would never know how important those letters had been to her, how strongly she had longed for the chance to see all those great beyonds herself.
Well, now Catalina had the whole world at the tip of her fingers. Now she could see all those islands and foreign lands with her own two eyes. Never again would her imagination be her sole companion in a stuffy ballroom in London. Next to marrying Armand, this had been what she had wanted most. It had been the reason she’d had no hesitation when the arrangement to marry a man twice her age pushed her to the midnight docks, aboard a ship called the Sweet Lady, and into the life of the sea-rough Captain Dwyer.
It seemed the sea had always been her calling. At the moment, however, as the dim golden glow of the candles danced across her dining table and the moon reflected through an open window, Catalina felt a calling to something else, something far more universal.
She was lonely.
The sensation should have evaporated with the arrival of her latest mission, to rescue Henri de Bourbon, the man who would have been her legal brother, had it all turned out as planned. She had always believed Eliza was half in love with Henri, even as her younger sister had scoffed at the very idea of marriage—only twelve years old when the earl and his family departed England forever. But Eliza was nigh on a million miles away, and Catalina had no one to speak to, no one to tell of her fears that perhaps she might never become the woman she expected of herself, perhaps she would roam the sea forever and
wake one morning to find herself old and alone.
Being alone whilst older wasn’t so much different than being alone at the ripe age of five and twenty.
For the need of something to do, she stood, pulled open the creaky doors of her wardrobe, and reached inside for a box. There had been three ships since the beginning, the Sweet Lady, the Starling, and the Liberté. But the box had come everywhere with her. The box had been her only tie to home, and the life she had lived once upon a time.
Damn Armand, this was all his fault. She hadn’t even thought about what she had left behind in many months, hadn’t thought past the next payment to Dwyer House, the next mission to afford food for the babes and clothes for their mothers. She had been busy, devoted and strong, out of necessity. Why now, with the arrival of her past, was it so easy to see each of those parts of herself begin to crumble under the simple gaze of a ghost? It wasn’t Armand’s fault, not really, but he reminded her of so many things that Catalina quite longed to forget.
She settled onto her bed and carefully opened the box. The small hinges creaked and hedged, until they offered her the contents—a stack of thick, folded letters dating back to before the day she had left home. For a moment, Catalina only stared. Long ago, the notes had lost any scent of Eliza or their home, traded from hand to hand along the seafaring post. But she could picture her dear sister in their London townhouse, scribing perfectly penned letters. Charlotte Talbot’s handwriting had been a disaster of epic proportion, a truth that had sent several governesses running for the far hills. Catalina Sol’s was only marginally better, and entirely from necessity.