Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides)

by Vinet, Lynette

“Give it to him then.”

  Rosalina placed her hands on her hips and circled Marlee. “You think you’re grander than me with your fancy dress and talk. But you’re the same as me—no better, no worse than a puta.”

  “Enlighten me, Rosalina. What is a puta?” Marlee didn’t really care what it was. She was gauging Rosalina, attempting to determine if she might be able to help her escape somehow whenever they docked.

  An amused grin turned up the edges of Rosalina’s scarlet mouth. “A puta is what you’d call a whore in your language. Manuel says you’re his mistress, but I know better. There’s no need to use a fancy word. Maybe you bed Manuel for a while, but soon, he’ll grow tired of his fancy English lady like he did that other one. And then, well, you’ll be turned over to his men. You’ll be just like me.”

  “No, I won’t. I’d kill myself first.” Marlee grew queasy. Perspiration droplets broke out upon her forehead. Suddenly she felt horribly and unaccountably ill when the ship gave a violent lurch. Falling to her knees, she held onto the table leg. “Please help me,” she begged Rosalina through pale lips.

  “You’ve nothing but the seasickness,” was Rosalina’s adept diagnosis.

  “No, no, I need your help to escape Manuel Silva.”

  Rosalina looked dumbstruck. “Escape from Manuel? But why would you want to?” she asked, shaking her head in bafflement. “Manuel is a good lover. Maybe you’ll be fortunate and he’ll keep you for himself for a long time before sharing you with his men. Maybe you’ll even come to like opening your legs for the crew, eh? That red-haired English puta liked it.” Rosalina threw back her head and burst out laughing. “You English are a crazy people,” she observed and shut the door behind her.

  Once more, the bar slipped into place.

  Marlee’s fingers clutched the table leg, holding on in abject fear and misery. A short time ago everything had been wonderful, her future with Lark gleamed bright as gold. Now, darkness claimed her soul.

  “Lark, Lark,” she mouthed his name over and over again, offering a silent prayer that he’d find her soon and deliver her from this pit of hell and the devilish Manuel Silva.

  ~

  “Sir, the storm has ended,” Lieutenant Monroe, one of the English navy’s finest young officers, reported to Lark. “Holcombe requests you go above deck. He believes he’s sighted the frigate, Morning Star, and her companion vessel.”

  Glancing up from the maps he perused, Lark nodded and took a small swig of whiskey to dull the ache in his shoulder. “Any sign of Silva yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Where can that blasted swine be!” Lark burst out, his frustration and fear showed in his weary, lined face. “We’ve been sailing for more than a day—and nothing. One would think that his majesty’s finest would be able to rout out the bastard before now.”

  “The storm threw us off course for a while, sir,” Monroe defensively explained, “but now that the frigate is in view, Silva can’t be far behind.”

  Lark stood up from behind the table and grabbed his saber, tying it to the loop on his waistband. Then he opened the sea chest and took out a pistol. “I wonder which way that bastard prefers to die,” he said, referring to Silva in a chilling voice. “Pass the word to the men that if Silva is captured, he is to be brought to me—and only to me.”

  “I doubt the admiralty will approve, sir.”

  “Damn the admiralty! This is my ship and I’m in charge.”

  Lieutenant Monroe saluted but appeared a bit stunned by Lark’s outburst. “Yes, sir!”

  “You may go,” Lark said. Monroe hurriedly left the cabin.

  The man most probably thought he was demented, and maybe he was right, Lark decided when he caught sight of his reflection in the wall mirror. His unshaven face stared back at him from dark-circled eyes. He hadn’t combed his hair in days; in fact, he hadn’t slept in days, either—not since Marlee had been kidnapped. The clothes he wore were clean at least, having changed after the stabbing, but they were rumpled. The stab wounds still pained him some but nothing hurt as much as the pernicious ache in his heart. Sometimes he wondered if he was already mad and didn’t know it.

  Every moment of the day was passed in agony. When Bettina had been taken, Lark hadn’t dwelled upon what might have happened to her. But now that Marlee was gone, he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what Silva might be doing to her. Was the bastard touching her, forcing himself upon her? He hated to think about Marlee in Silva’s bed, or being used by Silva’s men. The sordid images revolved in his mind like a windmill. To counteract the images, he began to concentrate on how he’d kill Manuel Silva with his bare hands and this is what saved him from insanity.

  “Marlee, my sweet love, I’m coming for you,” he whispered and left the cabin to join the men on deck.

  ~

  After a long, dreadful night of wind-tossed seas and violent rain, all was now calm. A timid sunbeam slid into Silva’s cabin to bathe the interior in a yellow glow. Marlee laid on the velvet-cushioned window seat which allowed a sweeping view of the ocean and sky. But she wasn’t concerned with the view, instead she’d placed her arm over her eyes to block out the light. Her head hurt, and her stomach felt as if she’d heaved up the sea, having spent hours during the storm bent over the chamber pot. Never had she been so ill, not even on Lark’s ship where she’d spent weeks. She wished to die.

  But death didn’t come. Manuel Silva did.

  She was too ill even to steal a glance when she heard the bar being lifted, the creak of the door opening and closing. But she knew Manuel was in the room, she sensed him watching her and shivered beneath the blanket.

  “Rosalina told me you were sick,” he said with a heavy dose of annoyance in his voice. “Don’t attempt to fake illness, Marlee. I realize you’re playing a game with me.”

  She slowly removed her arm so he could see the pallor of her complexion, the blue eyes which stared dully at him. “Do I look like I’m playing a game?” she asked weakly, dismayed to discover that he hovered over her like a vulture.

  “Madre de Dios, you look wretched!”

  “Thank you—so much.”

  Silva sighed raggedly, disturbed and frustrated by Marlee’s condition. He’d been on deck for hours, fighting the storm, keeping his men under control. All he wanted was to return to his cabin and possess the English beauty who had captured his heart—if it could be said that Manuel Silva had a heart, and many people believed he didn’t. But he did have one. He felt pain and love as much as any man, lust, too, and that was the main reason he’d wanted Marlee in the beginning. Her delicate loveliness overpowered him, and he wasn’t used to being denied anything he wanted, much less endure being scorned by a woman.

  This woman had scorned him and hurt his pride. Even now, lying sick and weak before him, she scorned him. Where was the justice? He’d offered her marriage and would be a good father to the children she’d bear. Instead, she’d turned loathsome eyes upon him, cringing each time he touched her. Didn’t she realize that he loved her? What more could he do to make her want him?

  Her escape with Lark Arden had stung and humiliated him. Never would he forget the way he’d searched frantically for her at the ball when she didn’t return with Doña Carlotta. But Doña Carlotta was gone, too, and he’d never seen her again. It was hours later, after he’d suffered the humiliation of Marlee’s abandonment in front of the governor and his friends, that he learned two ships had been spotted in Matanzas Bay. One belonged to Sloane Mason and the other to Lark Arden, his enemy. His anger knew no bounds.

  A part of him was now pleased to see Marlee in physical distress, feeling that she deserved to suffer for what she’d done to him. Yet he wanted her well again very soon. His loins ached to possess her and make her truly his. Somehow he’d have to free her of Arden’s memory. His only alternative was to hunt down the English dog in the same way Arden had hunted him and to finally kill the bastard. Such a black thought immediately lightened Silva’s disposition.r />
  “You know, I could take you here and now. You’d be much too weak to fight me off.” Silva didn’t intend to touch her while she was ill, but he was unwilling to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was safe from him for the moment.

  A wave of fear flashed across her face only for an instant, but she bravely hid her terror behind a forced smile. “Yes, I suppose—you could. But if I’m not suffering from seasickness, you might catch whatever ails me. Then you’d be the one retching into the chamber pot all night. Not a—pretty picture, is it?”

  Damn! he cursed under his breath. The wily wench had turned the tables on him, causing him again to look and feel foolish. “I’ll send Rosalina to tend to you,” he muttered and scowled blackly. “But I warn you that soon I’ll have my way with you, whether it’s here or in Saint Augustine.”

  “Lark will hunt you down like the swine you are,” she hissed.

  “No, I shall hunt him instead. Time and cunning are on my side. No one has ever outwitted me. No one ever shall. Rest and regain your strength, Marlee. I think I’ll go on deck and search for Arden’s ship, and when I find it, I shall dispose of it and Arden.”

  She stared at him in haughty disdain until her glower forced him to turn and leave.

  ~

  “Captain Silva, there’s the English frigate and her companion vessel.” Renaldo gazed through the spyglass and pointed to two dark specks on the distant horizon.

  “Let me see.” Manuel took the spyglass and smiled at what he saw. He stroked his short beard. “Bueno. There shouldn’t be a problem taking both ships. Diego is captaining the sloop and will back us up. Renaldo, order the square sails opened, the cannons readied for firing. This shall be an easy victory.” Manuel was certain the frigate would fall without too much trouble. The ship was large but slow moving. He determined that the other ship wasn’t as big as the frigate but moved at the same speed. His own brigantine was quick and sturdy as a workhorse, never failing him in a battle; the sloop that traveled alongside was smaller but equally as swift—a perfect escape vessel if the brigantine was incapacitated.

  With all his senses alerted, a surge of energy rushed through him, reviving his tired body. He lived not for the plunder but the challenge and a good fight. May it now be so.

  The sound of a cannon’s boom echoed in the distance. Lark grabbed his spyglass and shouted to Lieutenant Monroe, “Silva’s brigantine is attacking the Morning Star! All men to their posts!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Monroe rushed away, leaving Lark alone on the bridge. Men ran hither and yon below him, readying their swords and muskets while the gunners stood at attention behind the large, formidable cannons. The men on the four navy ships followed similar orders. With their sails at full mast, the ships pressed solidly forward as one body. So many men and so much firepower almost certainly spelled doom for Manuel Silva, however, Lark had learned never to underestimate the cunning pirate. And he wouldn’t do so now.

  Another boom exploded, this one was from the Morning Star and seconds later, the smaller ship protecting the frigate struck back with cannon fire. “Men, hold your fire until we’re closer!” Lark commanded from the bridge. “Aim only to cripple the brigantine, not destroy it!”

  “But, sir,” Monroe protested from the deck, “our orders are to wipe out Silva and his crew.”

  “You’re on my ship and will follow my orders! There’s a woman on board Silva’s brigantine. Under no circumstances do I want her harmed!”

  Monroe opened his mouth to speak but evidently thought better of it so he clamped it shut. With a disgruntled air, he returned to his post.

  “Damn military men!” muttered Lark under his breath and scanned the horizon through the spyglass. From what he could see and the cannon explosions he heard, Lark determined that Silva’s crew had turned their attention to the smaller ship that acted as a buffer for the Morning Star. Evidently, the pirate decided that it was better to be rid of the companion vessel before using full force against the frigate. Lark didn’t doubt for a second that Silva would be successful. His sleek-hulled brigantine could maneuver the ocean currents swiftly and easily. The frigate wouldn’t stand a chance any other time. But he doubted very much that Silva anticipated five ships bearing down upon him. An easy victory appeared likely because Silva’s brigantine was outnumbered. But Lark knew Silva well enough to realize that he’d never be captured so easily. It wasn’t the promised booty that drove Manuel Silva but the chase, the smell of gunpowder and burning timbers that stirred his soul. He’d always survive to fight another day.

  By now, Silva must have seen the four navy ships and Her Ladyship quickly approaching the brigantine to realize his inevitable defeat. But Silva wasn’t the type to surrender or be taken prisoner. What would he do?

  It was then Lark spied the small sloop following behind the brigantine. “Good, God!” he exclaimed as a shudder of apprehension raced through him. He knew exactly what Silva planned to do. “Break away from the formation and head south!” Lark shouted to Holcombe who steered the ship. Holcombe nodded, instantly obeying.

  Lieutenant Monroe broke away from the gunners he’d been commanding upon hearing Lark’s order. His young face was livid with rage. “Captain, sir, breaking formation is against the admiral’s orders. I won’t allow this to happen. Such a course is foolhardy and will lead us wide open to attack.”

  Lark had had enough of Monroe and his men. They’d boarded his ship only to offer assistance, but he’d made it earlier understood to the admiral that his orders were to be implicitly followed. Marlee’s life might very well depend upon breaking formation and sailing south. No one was going to disobey him, especially not a young, wet-behind-the-ears officer. He glanced down at Monroe from his higher position on the bridge, the bridled anger in his voice was sharper than finely edged steel. “Are you threatening mutiny, Lieutenant Monroe?”

  Very much aware of the gazes of his men upon him and not wishing to appear cowardly before the daunting pirate hunter, Monroe defiantly thrust out his chest. “If need be, sir, yes, I am. The concerns of my men must be placed before the fate of one woman.”

  “How very ungallant of you, Lieutenant.” Lark grasped the pistol that was tucked in his waistband and shot an ominously black look over the assembled military men. Then he whistled shrilly and his own crew broke away from their posts to silently surround Monroe and his men. The men who’d sailed and remained with Lark since New Providence were seasoned fighters. They were few in number compared to the navy men, not as polished—a motley assortment, to be certain—but they were tough as old shoe leather and would fight to the death, if the need arose. Every one was loyal to their captain, more so than to any admiral or king. And Lark knew this was the deciding factor in avoiding a mutiny. “My crew is not cowardly; they’ll fight with me and do what I command without question. If there is to be a mutiny aboard my ship I won’t be the one thrown overboard, I assure you, Lieutenant. I trust you and your men can swim.”

  Monroe’s pale face flushed in humiliation. There was nothing to do but follow Lark’s instructions. “You’re the captain, sir.” Turning on his heels, he fled to the opposite end of the deck.

  “Well-handled,” complimented Holcombe.

  Lark sighed, stroking his hand through his dark hair. “I hope I can handle Silva as well.” And bring Marlee home.

  ~

  The battle was going badly.

  The brigantine had fired a number of volleys in the direction of the frigate’s companion, even hitting it broadside. But the small ship continued firing, and then the frigate, too. None of this bothered Silva—he knew he’d be able to wear down the English sailors in time. But then he saw the five ships approaching and realized he couldn’t defend himself against so much collective artillery. ‘‘Madre de Dios,” he lowly declared. “The English will sink us.” When a cannonball from the Morning Star hit the brigantine’s hull and caused extensive damage, Manuel realized the doomed outcome. Yet he felt immense pride because five ships, the
frigate, and its smaller companion ship were needed to capture his one. The sloop, however, wouldn’t be captured.

  From the formation of the five English ships, they were headed straight for the brigantine. The frigate was no longer his main interest—self-survival was. Manuel stood on the quarter deck and waved a green flag at the sloop, following a short distance behind the brigantine. Immediately, Diego signaled back with a matching flag.

  Time was of the essence, he knew, and must act quickly. The brigantine would be used as a decoy while he made his escape with Marlee. Rushing down the deck and past his men, some of whom loaded the cannons to point at the English ships which loomed ever closer, Manuel ceased to be calm. Usually during a battle he never expressed nervousness—in fact, never was afraid. But now he was and he wasn’t certain why. A strange, clawing sensation in his chest which he’d never before experienced threatened to suffocate him. He must escape so he could breathe freely again.

  ~

  Marlee watched the five ships approaching from the window seat. She’d stayed in place even when the brigantine took the cannonball. The impact rocked the ship with such force that she nearly rolled off the cushion. Their flags proclaimed them as belonging to the English navy, and she guessed they’d been sent from Bermuda. But there was one ship that broke away from the other four and appeared to be sailing as to go around the brigantine instead of straight toward it. She couldn’t stop staring at it, almost transfixed by it, before she recognized the flag on the mast that blew wildly in the stiff sea breezes as belonging to Her Ladyship.

  “Lark!” Her jubilant cry echoed in the cabin. For the first time she truly felt she was going to be rescued. Lark was coming for her, really and truly coming to take her away from Silva. “Hurry, my darling, hurry, please,” she whispered as a warm, happy glow filled her.

  So engrossed was she in the stirring scene before her, she didn’t hear Manuel releasing the bar on the door or entering the room until he was upon her and scooping her into his arms like a demented fiend. “What are you doing!” she cried but was still so weak she didn’t have the strength to push at him.