A Kiss in the Wind

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “Miss Castellan has graciously taken the place of our missing messenger,” Tyburn said. “We need to shove off immediately.”

  Willie glanced at her. The helmsman’s unpleasant scrutiny made him appear hardened, but his small eyes belied a softer side of him, sympathy perhaps. “Aye, Capt’n.” Willie wheeled around and made his way back to the quarterdeck shouting orders. “Fetch up your hook! Man all canvas! We set sail!”

  The weak breeze drifted the Rissa away from the quay. Marisol stood at the rail to watch the docks slip by. Pockets of yellow balefires lit up the night, casting the flickering light upon plumes of blackened smoke.

  Alain marched down the pier. A pang of regret cramped within her chest. Even from the distance she could make out Alain’s anger in the workings of his posture. There would be hell to pay when she got back. She turned away, not wanting to change her mind and spare herself his fury later. Besides, the damage had been done.

  Captain Tyburn joined her at the edge. “A friend of yours, I presume?” He jutted his chin toward the man she had given her back to.

  “No.” The truth would only complicate her plans further.

  “Uh-huh. No need for concern, then.”

  “Concern?”

  Tyburn stopped a passing sailor to give more orders and then strode away.

  What does he mean?

  Shouting and the popping of gunfire spun her back around. She gripped the railing as she helplessly watched Spanish soldiers storm in to corner Alain and Luc, who’d just joined him, on the pier. Alain walked in an eerie calm toward the firing line, squeezing off shots from the pistols he held in each hand. Whilst Luc charged forward at the line with his sword drawn, a boat docked alongside the landing blocked her view of the combat. Desperate to see what was going on, she stood on her tiptoes then ran down the rail to catch a glimpse of the fight, with no luck.

  What was going on? Where were Ben and Knuckles and the rest of Alain’s men? Surely Alain and Luc would overcome the soldiers. They’d make it out. They always did.

  Still, she watched until the wharf was too far to make any distinction. She could no longer smell the putrid fishy scent mixed with the heavy odor of burnt timber. A hefty dose of guilt replaced her regret. Aye, hell to pay, indeed.

  “Set an easterly heading, Willie.” Tyburn’s command traveled to her ears, recapturing her attention. “We should meet our mark by sunrise.”

  “East?” Marisol made her way to the middle of the ship where the captain stood shouting his directions. East? If he sailed east, the Gloria might already be past a point of intersection. He was sending them in the wrong direction.

  “You should take a westerly course,” she said as she reached him.

  “Oh?” His eyebrows lifted with an incredulous look. He rested his arm on the hilt of his sword at his hip. “By what reason?”

  “The letter said seven miles out from the east.”

  “For a lass who pretends to know nothing, you sure have an opinion.”

  “You didn’t ask me if I knew what the letter said. You only asked me who sent me for it.” She gave him a dismissive look of her own. “If you go east, you’ll miss her. For a captain of the fabled Rissa, you surprise me by your lack of knowledge in this matter.”

  He must have been using a heroic effort to control himself. She sensed it in his wrathful smirk. “And if I listened to the twaddle of a meddling woman, then I don’t deserve to captain a jolly boat.” He leaned forward, as if to impart a prized secret. “The code meant for me sends me east to the noble waters. Tell me, chit, do you know of the noble waters?”

  That part of the code she could not make sense of, she had to admit. “Well, no.” She crossed her arms.

  “Of course not.” He straightened. “The noble waters refers to the Mona Passage, the treacherous waters which lie between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. So you see, Miss Castellan, if we go west as you suggest, we might as well be skipjack fishing. You will be merely wasting my time. We go east.”

  Was that her pride she heard deflating? A nod seemed the only response she could muster.

  “Henri.” Tyburn waved over the small sailor. “Take Miss Castellan to the guest quarters. She needs her privacy.”

  “Uh.” Henri groaned. “Not again.” He exaggerated his apparent dislike of the order with an eye roll.

  “See to it that she makes herself presentable to me before I come to her cabin.” He scanned her dusty clothing and with his heated expression she swore he could see right through her dress. “You will make yourself presentable to me.”

  “Perhaps you should do the same for me.” Though, she imagined, if the circumstances were different, she wouldn’t even mind if he were covered in fish scales.

  “Perhaps I shall.” He circled around her. “But not because I find it necessary.” He leaned over her shoulder to let the last of his words drip into her ear. “Nor would you, I think.” His breath sent shivers of desire to her most coveted sweet spots. Think smelly crusty fish scales.

  “Half an hour.” He dismissed them both and walked away.

  Marisol followed Henri below deck, listening to him grumble the entire way. He favored one leg as he hobbled along and she wondered what hazard had befallen him to result in his limp. He couldn’t be much help as a pirate with such impairment.

  “You’re kind of old to be a cabin boy,” she said.

  “Cabin boy?” He jerked around. “Watch your tongue, lass. I’m not above cutting it out.”

  “Hmm. I think you’d have a hard time catching me.” She smiled.

  “Aye. But I can poison ya.”

  Oh. She didn’t like the sound of that.

  “That’s right, dearie. I’m this ship’s cook and I can whip up a nasty blight.” He turned to unlock a door. “Cabin boy. Humph.”

  She stepped into the small room and her jaw dropped. The cabin was an indulgence of beautiful blue fabrics and textures. Silken pillows and spread covered the plush bed flanked by a small writing desk and chair. An ornate chest of drawers marked the opposite wall next to another door. Painted blue flowers and sweeping vines adorned both pieces of furniture in astounding craftsmanship.

  “I’ll git you clean water to wash with,” Henri said. “Clothes are in the dresser.”

  She hardly heard him as she stood in awe of the lovely room. Not what she would expect on a vessel full of hardened seamen. She kneeled to the floor and let her hands caress the smooth bedspread before laying her cheek down on the cool satin.

  Closing her eyes, she relished the softness. Alain would never allow such frivolities on his ship. Nay. The luxuries of money were best spent in port. His crew threw their earnings at whores and bad liquor. As for her, she had her share of boozing. But her weakness came in the form of finely crafted knives.

  Someday, when she captained her own ship, she vowed to furnish her quarters with sumptuous style, such as in this room, in her favorite color. Blood-red.

  After Henri brought her the water, she cleaned up and changed into a tunic and pair of trousers she found in one of the drawers. She had just finished combing out her hair with a silver brush she found in the dresser, when there came a quick rap on her door.

  * * *

  Blade smiled as he put his hand to the doorknob. He had a special fondness for this room. The blue hues and silky sheets were perfect for a seductive night with a lucky lady. He reserved bringing women on board for the few he coveted the most. And never did he allow them in his own quarters, in his own bed. As much as he loved his bonny girls, there must not be any confusion in their relationship with him. No woman could claim to be anything more than his lover for the night. Each time he crossed the threshold to his blue paradise was like stepping into a lover’s arms.

  But there was no lover waiting for him on the other side. Not this time. His smile faded.

  Blade pushed his way inside. “Games are over, Miss Castellan,” he said.

  Something in his chest hitched at the sight of Marisol stroking a brush
through her shiny black hair. She stood and crossed to the dresser. He could see how well the trousers fit, how nicely they molded to her firm backside. Her tight-laced tunic did nothing to hide well-rounded bosoms, tucked in under her corset, that jiggled with each of her movements. He would have to concentrate, really concentrate on the task at hand. Not on what fantasies he would like to carry out on her.

  “Games.” She turned around, her back against the chest of drawers. “Right.”

  “My cameo, Marisol.” He didn’t have a good feeling about this. She avoided eye contact with him, glancing to the floor, then to the door.

  “You see.” She paused, looking to the floor again before settling on him. “I don’t have it.”

  “What?” The bile of anger curdled in his gut. “You said you had it on you.”

  “No. I said I still claim it. I never said I carried it with me.”

  “Where is it then?”

  “In my cabin.”

  “Your…cabin.” Scorn tinged his words as if he could taste the bile in his mouth.

  “Aye, uh, on the Egeria.” She reached up to tug on her ear.

  He came forward, crowding her in. “You lie.”

  “No.” She leaned back placing her hand on the dresser, trying for a comfortable distance. “I speak the truth. It is in my cabin.”

  “Darling, I know you are not sailing with the Egeria.” Some things were not worth his patience. “What are you hiding?”

  “All right. Fine.” She straightened, trading her space for boldness. “I lied. I deliberately misled you so you would take me along when you seized the Gloria.”

  Interesting. “Why?”

  “I believe my missing brother to be onboard. I’m desperate to find him.” She grabbed his arm. “Please, Captain Tyburn. Take me to my brother.”

  “Why in the name of Davy Jones would I do that? You’ve robbed me of my personals and of my time. And you’ve not spoken a truthful word.” His ire grew into a churning angry sea. “You’re lying to me even now.”

  “No.” Her eyes widened as she wildly searched his face. “Please, you must take me to him. I know he is on the Gloria. I’m not lying.”

  “I say you are. I met your dear brother on the docks. Taking care of business. You remember. You lied to me then, too.”

  “I suppose I did.” She leaned wearily back against the dresser. “Luc is my brother, my older brother. But I’m looking for Monte.”

  Suspicion rang in his ears. “This is a trick. You’re only interested in the cargo.”

  “I swear to you. I only want to find Monte. Please, Tyburn. I’m not used to begging.”

  Blade found it difficult to have any sympathy for the lass. With the idea that she played him for a fool, no amount of pleading would sway him to help her.

  He shook his head. “And so you hide my cameo to ensure I help you.”

  “I saw an opportunity and I took it. How could I know that you have some perverse obsession with women’s jewelry?”

  He slammed both hands down on the dresser, pinning her between them. “My cameo has value only to me. Do you understand? Value that you could never comprehend.” He ground out his declaration between clenched teeth.

  She flinched at his actions but she did not recoil from him. Instead, her eyes traveled down to his mouth. The blistering smolder within them fueled his temper and sent a jolt of heat to his groin. “You will give it to me.” He spoke slowly, wanting the form of his words on his lips to sear into her gaze. “You will.”

  “Take me to the Gloria and you will have it.” Her mouth hardly moved with her reply.

  He laughed in spite of her, a welcome distraction to what he reckoned could be had—or could be taken. “Bargaining with me, are you, chit? No. We turn this boat around and return to Puerto Plata. You board whatever vessel it is that you sail on, with me and a few of my most persuasive men as your personal escorts. You give me back my cameo and I spare your life.”

  “But, the Gloria. You’ll miss her.”

  Curious that she would be more concerned about that ship than the threat he just made on her life. There had to be more to it than what she was telling him. Never mind. Her plans had failed.

  “We are less than an hour from shore.” He pushed away from her, moving to the door. “It will be but a minor setback to return. Besides, I see no reason to dock. We’ll simply ferry to the wharf.” The farther away they sailed, the smaller his chances were for getting back the one thing that embodied his world. That special piece of ornamental shell that reminded him of the man he was cursed to be.

  Windham’s merchant would wait.

  “Yet precious time will be lost.” She beseeched after him as he moved away. “I can promise you the cameo is safe. Don’t let the Gloria slip away, Tyburn.”

  He didn’t fear losing the Gloria. She was under the protective escort of Captain Drake and his brigantine, the Widow Maker. Charles Windham made sure to hire the most cunning and feared of sea wolves available to protect his treasure; Captains Quint, Drake and Tyburn. They were to keep the Gloria safe from other predators, such as turncoats of the brotherhood like Carrion, and get the vessel in her berth by the end of the month. Windham staked that with the three pirates working together, no one captain would betray the others and make off with the treasure. As an added incentive, once the cargo reached Windham’s greedy hands, he would reveal the locations of some corrupt landowners ripe for lucrative plundering.

  As long as the wealthy man was willing to pay handsomely for the protection, the three of them wouldn’t let the profitable opportunity fall to someone else. It was something of a precarious pact made amongst devils. Stripping Windham of his silver would be simple. Any one of them could do it. But a pirate worth his merit wouldn’t give in to the temptation of treasure whilst a bigger prize could be had.

  Captain Quint had led the vessel from Havana to the tip of Cuba where Drake took over. Drake was to accompany the boat until the Rissa could escort the Gloria and her valuable cargo the rest of the way around Hispaniola through the dangerous Mona Passage, waters which few could maneuver through better than Blade, to Santo Domingo and Windham. To help keep it a clandestine mission, each captain sent a messenger ahead detailing a point of contact. Delays were inevitable. Drake would wait until Blade made the rendezvous.

  “You mustn’t risk losing her.” She was as stubborn as he. But he was the captain and his decision was final.

  “Don’t underestimate me and my ship,” he said.

  She came forward, following him to the door. “Will you take me then? I mean once I return your cameo to you? Will you take me to the Gloria?”

  Blade faltered for a moment staring down in her creamy brown eyes haunted by mania. How could he deny her this one simple wish? He’d be taking the Gloria anyway. How much trouble could this lovely woman be? This shifty, thieving, infuriating woman.

  The onslaught of a headache gripped him, a vise squeezing his temples. Maybe if he quit grinding his teeth, the pressure would lessen. Somehow, he didn’t think that would relieve the ache. Lightening his load was a different story.

  “Deception among men is to be expected.” He stepped across the threshold. “However, it is very unsavory when a woman spouts lies.” He pulled the door behind him, adding, “I won’t help you,” just before the latch clicked.

  Chapter Five

  “I mean no disrespect, Capt’n. But it will be daybreak in a few hours.”

  Willie’s statement cut into Blade’s quiet contemplation. He understood what Willie had been trying to say minutes ago, and why he had asked to speak to Blade in private upon being ordered to turn the Rissa back. Willie objected to the decision. Even in the dark, Blade knew his quartermaster frowned at him. As he probably should. Blade let the matter of his cameo get the better of him.

  He leaned on the railing with crossed arms. His gaze dropped to the prow slicing through the water below. Black ridges with fleeting white crests rolled then disappeared into the dark. The shi
p creaked as she stretched forward into the salty night. If he returned to Puerto Plata now, he would indeed lose precious time. Sailing along the Mona Passage was tricky with its twisting tidal currents. He’d need as many days as he could afford to make it through safely.

  As for his cameo, he suspected it lay with other ill-gotten trinkets someplace Marisol regarded safe enough. A thief wouldn’t be irresponsible with her booty, and she didn’t act as if she’d be careless. He had to trust that it was in this cabin of hers and that she could get it back to him. The Spanish soldiers of Puerto Plata wouldn’t release any ships from port for several days following the raid. The likelihood that his cameo would be there by the time he returned from his encounter with the Gloria was high. Still, it sickened him to be at the mercy of her word. Mercy was his to deal out, not the other way around.

  He resented being caught between Marisol’s treachery and his commission. Bitterness soured in him like rancid meat roasting in the muggy hold.

  “Willie, we’ve sailed together for many years, eh?” Blade turned to look at him, seeing little more than his silhouette. Willie faced him, holding on to a line of the rigging.

  “Aye.”

  “Do you doubt my leadership?” His question was blunt. He wasn’t angry with Willie’s resistance to his orders nor did he fish for selfish validation. Nay. There were few who could captain a ship as well as he. Yet Willie would speak not as his first mate, but as his friend.

  “No, sir.” Willie shook his head. “But I wonder if the woman has muddied up your objective.”

  Blade nodded. He hated it, but Willie was right. And he supposed he knew what he was to do all along. He pushed off the rail. “My objective remains the same. Continue the course.”

  He took the companion ladder leading below to his cabin. Maybe some sleep would clear his mind. He plopped down onto his bed without removing his boots. Tucking an arm under his head, he closed his eyes. This night had certainly been exciting. Laughable how the clumsy feet of a dancing lass could muck up everything. She spun around in his mind to some distant music he could not recall. He summoned up the feel of her slender body, her firm breasts, when she’d crashed into him after tripping, and smiled. An unorthodox way of meeting a bonny girl. Who knew her cunning matched her beauty?