“I didn’t,” Jean replied. “The Starbright is Mrs. Taylor’s ship. Three vessels can cover a wider area than one.”
“Do you have a capable captain and crew, Mrs. Taylor?” Gasparilla asked smoothly. “I would be happy to let you have a few of my men.”
Kathleen met him stare for stare. “Thank you, no. I have a reliable crew and the most loyal of captains.”
This last comment brought a broad grin from Dominique, duly noted by Gasparilla. Even the petite dark-haired woman, so solemn and quiet so far, had nearly smiled. “You are piloting the lady’s ship, Dominique?” he asked.
“No, no,” Dominique assured him. “I sailed the third. Captain Taylor handles the helm quite well herself.”
Grey eyes widened in astonishment as Gasparilla once more took in the women’s unusual attire. His eyes lingered on the rapier adorning Kathleen’s curvaceous thigh. “You command the Starbright?” he echoed in stunned disbelief.
“I do.”
A short laugh barked from his thick throat. “Are you one of those freakish women who thinks she is a man?” he scoffed. “Perhaps your husband was not man enough to satisfy you. Could it be you need a real man to show you your proper place in this world?”
Emerald eyes blazed as Kathleen’s hand tightened on the hilt of her rapier. “My husband is all the man I need, Gasparilla, and if you should be tempted to prove otherwise, I would advise you to make your peace with God before you attempt it. This rapier is not for show alone. It is honed to the sharpest edge and is swift to do my bidding. Any man who attempts to take what belongs to Reed alone, will feel the righteous wrath of my blade!”
Jean and Dominique flanked her. “And I am honor-bound to protect my friend’s wife in his absence, Jose. I do not take my responsibilities lightly,” said Jean.
“That goes for Miss Fernandez as well,” Dominique added, a fierce gleam in his black eyes.
Gasparilla laughed dismissively. “My friends, you take offense for no reason. I have more women than I know what to do with now. Why should I want these two who prefer men’s clothing and exhibit such masculine talents?” But his scornful words did not diminish the hot lust in his eyes as he appraised the feminine curves of the two women before him.
Isabel was hard pressed to hide her shiver of fear, and Kathleen her shudder of disgust. “Keep that in mind,” Kathleen suggested sharply. Turning, her long-legged stride carried her swiftly toward the Starbright.
“Do you think Gasparilla will try anything?” Isabel queried anxiously as the two women readied themselves for bed in Kathleen’s cabin. They had reluctantly accepted Gasparilla’s invitation to supper earlier that evening, where Dominique had jealousy guarded Isabel, as Jean had Kathleen. Following Jean’s example, they ate and drank nothing not served from a common platter or sampled by the others. They were taking no chances that Gasparilla might drug them. He was an unscrupulous pirate, after all, and not be be trusted.
“I have no idea,” Kathleen responded, “but I think we had better share my quarters tonight, just in case.” The two of them crawled into the wide captain’s bunk, their rapiers safely at hand beneath the thin sheet. They had previously reviewed a course of action, if necessary.
Hours later, dozing lightly, Kathleen heard the slight squeak as her cabin door stealthily opened. Nudging Isabel lightly, she felt her friend tense, and knew she was also alert to the intruders.
Two sets of footsteps crept toward the bunk. A sixth sense told Kathleen that a third man stood guarding the door. Just as two knife blades were about to settle upon their respective throats, Kathleen and Isabel reacted simultaneously. Isabel’s constant training paid off as her blade found its way neatly between the lower ribs of her assailant. His knife dropped harmlessly to the mattress as he howled and grabbed his side. Concentrating on her own attacker, Kathleen swung her blade upward. Having taken the left side of the bed, it was rather awkward having to bring her blade about in a backhanded move, but she managed it with more success than she’d imagined. The dim light from the porthole reflected off the steel as her sword severed the man’s hand completely. Blood spurted everywhere, and the fellow stared in stunned horror as his hand and weapon clunked to the floor.
Alert to the third intruder moving swiftly to their assailants’ defense, Kathleen leaped from the bed, her rapier ready. With a few, short, precise strokes, she disarmed him, his cutlass skittering noisily out of his reach.
Summoned by the howls of the wounded men and the clash of swords, several of Kathleen’s men now entered the cabin. Swords drawn, they watched as Kathleen rounded on the unarmed offender, her rapier point at his rapidly pulsing throat.
“Now, mate, who sent you?” She prodded him with the tip, drawing a drop of blood. Her freezing glare told him she would give him no quarter.
“Gasparilla,” he gasped painfully.
“To kill us or abduct us?”
The man gulped, his Adam’s apple bouncing. “We were to bring you to him,” he confessed.
“Take them on deck,” Kathleen commanded her crewmen. Glancing at her first attacker, clutching his handless arm and trying desperately to stem the flow of blood, she added contemptuously, “Don’t forget to retrieve this buffoon’s hand from beneath my bed. Throw it to the fish!”
Disregarding their thin nightdresses, Kathleen and Isabel followed the men on deck. There they found Finley gingerly fingering a huge knot on the back of his head. Another crewman nursed a matching lump. Other than that, no one else from her crew had been harmed. Once this was determined, Kathleen turned to the three pirates. “Go back to Gasparilla and take him this message. Tell him we dealt lightly with you. By all rights, I should have your heads! You may also tell him from me, that if he sends any more of his scurvy cut-throats aboard my ship, they will not return alive. He has my promise on this, and I always honor my word.”
Just to be sure Gasparilla got her message, Kathleen instructed several of her men to escort the three to Gasparilla’s door. Setting new guards, the two women retired, but only after the blood had been cleared from Kathleen’s cabin. But Isabel slept fitfully, awakening Kathleen once as she fought the lingering shadows of a blood-filled nightmare.
Chapter 10
The next morning Kathleen, Isabel, Jean, and Dominique marched boldly up to Gasparilla’s elaborate house. Gasparilla was wolfing down his breakfast as Kathleen approached the table. With no hesitation, she dumped her bloodstained sheets squarely in the center of the table. Her eyes met his with steely determination, her jaw tight with agitation. “You owe me a set of clean sheets, Gasparilla,” she stated grimly.
He nodded, outwardly unperturbed but in his eyes was a new look of admiration and respect. “My apologies, Mrs. Taylor, Miss Fernandez.”
To them all, he offered, “Sit down and have breakfast.”
“We’ve eaten,” Jean informed him.
“Then share my table and my coffee.”
Dominique and the women declined, but Jean surprisingly accepted, saying, “I should like to discuss a certain matter with you, José.”
After the other three returned to their ships, leaving Jean and Gasparilla to their discussion, Jean came straight to the point. “If Brew Baker has no news of the Kat-Ann, I should like to enlist your aid in finding Reed and his crew. You will be well paid for you help.”
Thick brows rising, Gasparilla’s look was calculating.
“Will the fascinating Mrs. Taylor be tendering payment, or will you?”
Jean smiled complacently. “I will, Gasparilla—in gold, of course. By now you must be aware that Kathleen does not share her favors. She is sincere in her efforts to find her husband, whom she loves with her whole heart.”
“A shame,” Gasparilla sighed, “but I must respect her for her faithfulness to the fellow. She is quite a woman, as is her little friend, the señorita Fernandez.”
“Dominique would gladly kill you if you touched so much as a hair of Isabel’s head,” Jean warned solemnly.
&nbs
p; Gasparilla’s smile was sly. “As you would if I were to try to take Kathleen Taylor.”
Jean nodded. “She is my friend’s wife.”
Gasparilla laughed. “Do not try to fool an old fool, Jean Lafitte! You love her. Your eyes follow her constantly. When you think she does not see, there is lust mixed with tenderness in the looks you send her way.”
Jean did not bother to deny it. “Yes, I love her,” he admitted. “I have loved her since I first set eyes on her five years ago, but she was Reed’s wife then, too. I respect Reed and Kathleen too much to do anything that would dishonor our friendship.”
“Still, you desire her,” Gasparilla insisted. “If her husband can not be found, what then?”
“Then Kathleen will undoubtedly return home to her children.”
“She has children?” Gasparilla was surprised.
“Two—a daughter and a son,” Jean said.
“And if Captain Taylor is discovered to have drowned after all?” Gasparilla pressed. “Will you take her for your own, then?”
Jean laughed. “No one ‘takes’ Kathleen, as you put it!”
“If you want her, and Reed is dead, why not take what you want?” Gasparilla could not understand Jean’s attitude. “She may fight you, but she’ll soon discover who is master.”
Jean shook his head, ruefully eyeing the man before him. “You still do not understand, do you, Gasparilla? If Kathleen should ever become mine, it will be because she, too, desires it. I have no wish to force her or crush her magnificent spirit that I admire so much. If—le bon Dieu forbid!—Reed should be proven dead, I would not want her to turn to me seeking only sympathy, comfort, or even release. If the day ever arrives when Kathleen can come to me freely and with love in her heart, then and only then will we share our passion. I’ll have no ghosts in my bed when I claim her.”
Gasparilla shrugged. “Have it your way, Jean. I still say you are a fool, but it is your life.”
Brew Baker arrived later that afternoon. The English captain-turned-pirate had not seen the Kat-Ann or anyone who may have been a part of her crew. Unable to resist Jean’s generous offer of gold, both he and Gasparilla agreed to join the search.
Five days later, as the ships were each cruising their separate areas, three sharp cannon reports resounded in the air, signaling that one of them had located something of note.
Aboard the Starbright, Kathleen froze in mid-stride upon hearing the signal. The blood seemed to drain out of her body through the soles of her feet, leaving her cold and pale beneath her summer tan. A terrible trembling attacked her, and she stumbled, sinking in a heap to the deck.
“Oh, God!” she prayed fervently. “Let him be well! Let him be alive!” After all the weeks of searching, it was still a shock to think that within a few minutes she might know his fate at last.
Kathleen started violently as she felt warm arms encircle her shoulders. Looking into Isabel’s concerned face, she saw compassion and understanding.
“Isabel, I am so frightened,” she whispered, her pale lips barely moving. “Now that the moment may be at hand, I am so awfully scared!”
“I know, Caterina,” Isabel crooned soothingly. “I know, amiga, but your crew awaits your orders. You must gather your strength and courage about you, and we must go see what has been found.”
Above her, Kathleen heard Finley’s familiar voice. “Captain?” he queried gently, sympathy coating the single word.
Kathleen swallowed hard, rapidly blinking the moisture from her eyes. “Help me up,” she croaked, extending her hand toward him, “Let’s be on our way, Finley. We’ll learn nothing sitting here worrying. Issue the orders, if you please.”
“Will you take the helm?” he asked.
“Aye. At least I will have the wheel to support my watery knees,” she joked weakly.
As the Starbright started toward the area from which the signal had sounded, Kathleen’s heart thudded in her chest, making her breath come unevenly. Equal parts of hope and dread filled her, as well as an uncertain sense of relief that perhaps her suspense would soon be ended one way or another.
It was not to be quite that simple, however. What faced Kathleen upon her arrival was to be the most trying time of her entire life.
Jean and Dominique had arrived just minutes before her to discover what Brew Baker had already found. Their ships rode side by side, guarding their find. As the Starbright drew abreast of the Pride, Kathleen saw Jean and Dominique standing mutely on deck, their faces shadowed by gloom. The very air seemed to carry the scent of sorrow.
Then she spied the cause of their dismay, and she gasped aloud. Her head spun dizzily, and she feared she might faint as she clutched the wheel for support. There, not twenty feet beneath the crystal surface of the clear waters, lay the battered remains of the once-proud Kat-Ann. Held fast by the sharp fingers of a coral reef, she rocked silently with the steady rhythm of the waves, beaten and void of life.
Kathleen slumped over the wheel, her head propped between her hands. Her heart pounded into her throat and head, sending a rush of blood to her brain, and she thought surely she would be sick as nausea assailed her. Pain pierced every part of her body, and she wished then and there for death to claim her, too. Deep, heartrending moans of agony escaped her lips unnoticed as she prayed for an escape from this, her worst nightmare.
She barely noticed the strong fingers prying her grip loose from the wheel. Nor did she hear the whispered, “Cherie, come belowdeck, away from prying eyes until you are recovered.” Eyes wide open, but blinded by tears, she did not see the torment on Jean’s face as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to her cabin. Nothing seemed to penetrate her all-consuming pain.
The wrenching sobs seemed to be coming from someone else. The wetness on her face and in her hair could have been salt spray or rain, for all Kathleen knew. It was as if she stood outside herself, watching the person she once had been, the body she had once occupied. Her limbs and brain felt numb, her skin cold, her heart dead and bloodless. If not for the persistant pain, she might have been dead. A devastating sense of loss engulfed her, even in her shocked state.
Gradually, however, her youthful body reasserted its own will, defying her brain’s wish for eternal oblivion. Unconsciously seeking warmth and comfort, she curled like a small child into Jean’s embrace, her arms clinging tightly to him. As he caressed her head and back in soothing strokes, she laid her head on his chest, taking comfort in the reassuring beat of his heart beneath her ear. It was as if she needed this sign of life, to hear this steady surge of blood, in order to cling to life herself and withstand the insanity that threatened her. Finally, her eyes swollen and heavy, she fell asleep to the steady drumming of his heart, and awoke sometime later still cradled in his supporting arms. Licking dry, trembling lips, she whispered, “Jean?” Her sorrowful gaze searched his face, finding no ground for hope. “He is really gone, isn’t he?”
His chest heaved heavily as he sighed. “It would seem so, cherie. We have divers now examining the wreckage for bodies that might be caught inside.”
Tears stung her eyes once more. “When they come across one dressed in black shirt and trousers ...” —here she choked and struggled to go on— “with an onyx ring on his marriage finger ... it will be Reed.”
Jean’s arms enfolded her more tightly, trying in vain to absorb some of her pain into himself, although he had his own share of sorrow to bear for the loss of his old and valued friend.
When darkness fell, the search of the sunken ship was put aside until morning. No one suggested that they depart the area. Instead, they settled gloomily into a fitful rest, awaiting the dark dawn of yet another dreadful day.
By afternoon of the following day, the search of the remains of the Kat-Ann was concluded. Several bodies had been found, accounting for about one-third of the original crew—none of them Reed’s. The entries in the log book, retrieved in its protective oilcloth enclosure, had been completed up to the day of the storm, telling nothi
ng of what had happened that fateful day.
Obviously, the ship had been blown way off course, coming to rest on the coral reef that had viciously finished the destruction the storm had begun. If the bodies Captain Guthrie had encountered were those of men from the Kat-Ann, the sum total of those discovered then and now accounted for only two-thirds of the crew.
Where were the rest? Where was Reed? These questions that echoed and resounded in Kathleen’s weary brain and carried her through the endless day and night, drove her to continue her search of the islands. She, Jean, and Dominique were of one accord on this issue. All of them felt led to scour the numerous islands surrounding the wreckage; and all were certain that if Reed were not found on one of them, he must indeed be dead.
The log book, however, did add a few new details. It seemed the prisoner exchange had been accomplished without a hitch. The Kat-Ann had traded twenty English prisoners for an equal number of Americans; nineteen men and one woman.
Reed wrote that the woman. Miss Sally Simpson, had been visiting in England when the war broke out. Finding herself on unfriendly soil, she had been frantic to leave the country. When her friends had gone home to Germany, she had tried to cross the border with them, and had gotten caught. A few months in an English prison had been more than enough for the poor girl, and she had been tearfully thankful to be included in the exchange.
In a side note, Reed stated that the young girl reminded him more than a little of Kathleen for some vague reason. Perhaps, he had written, it was her similar build, or her brave determination, he was not sure. There were no other physical similarities, he noted, since Sally Simpson was blonde, blue-eyed, and barely eighteen years of age.
Kathleen, upon reading this personal notation, felt an unreasonable jealousy that Reed should compare her with this stranger, especially in one of the last sentences of the journal. In her heart, she could not help wishing that his last thoughts had been only of her and their children. It hurt to think Reed might have been too preoccupied with saving this girl’s life to spare a thought for her, since Miss Simpson’s body had not be recovered either. Kathleen hated to picture Reed going to a watery grave wrapped in another woman’s arms. Try as she might, she could not shake her morbid, senseless jealousy.
Ashes and Ecstasy Page 15