A Kiss in the Wind

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  Monte dropped his sword and looked down. Blood bloomed from his fatal wound. His wide-eyed stare swept up, his eyes settling on Marisol. She stepped forward, her trembling fingers stretching out for him.

  A ravine of sadness for her cratered within Blade. He wanted to draw her into his embrace and stroke away her hurt. So much hurt. But he thought she would shy away from his compassion, revolted by the sight of Monte’s life dripping from the end of his sword. He brought death upon her brother. She would despise him with every particle of her being. Nay, holding her would be impossible. ’Twas between Marisol and Monte, now. And she needed to walk with Monte in his final moments on her own.

  “Monte,” she whispered.

  Wet rasps escaped his parted lips. “I…I hate you.”

  Crumpling to the floorboards, his last breath expelled, slow and cumbersome.

  Marisol did not move. Her expression, neither forlorn nor horror-struck, was unreadable to Blade as she stared at Monte’s dead body. The red streaks along her neck had dried. Blade internally sighed with relief. The cut had been superficial though would likely scar.

  Monte’s poisonous words chanted in his mind. How betrayed and injured she must feel to hear such excessive bitterness from a brother she dearly loved. Especially after all that she went through to find him. Blade wished he had the power to bring Monte back. Not to have him live again—nay, he wanted to plunge his sword through Monte’s rotten heart over and over again for hurting his dove.

  To hell with it. If she refused him, he would understand. But she needed someone now, someone who cared. The dampness of her arm stuck to his palm. “Marisol.”

  She said nothing. That worried him, but she did not recoil from his touch.

  “Marisol, my sweet. It’s over. You’re safe.” He leaned around, taking in her face. Glassy eyes, murky and distant, did not blink. Had she slipped into lunacy? He knew that place well. Empty, chaotic and so very lonely, madness was a colorless prison in the backdrop of the mind and was not easily escaped. Her absent gaze trailed down to the hair sticks still protruding from Monte’s stomach. Slowly, she squatted down and he let her slip from his grasp. She wrapped her fingers around the amber tips and slid the sticks free. Wiping them on her trousers she stood and turned to face Blade.

  “Bloody bastard, he was,” she said.

  Marisol stepped into Blade and allowed him to encircle his arms around her. She had no tears, but the rise and fall of her chest against him came in staccato breaths. He could offer her no healing words, for there were none to give. Yet he prayed that she found the solace she needed in the kisses he planted on her head.

  Minutes passed. The fighting around them slowed and the raucity faded. Blade’s men overcame the Sugar Lady’s truculent buccaneers. Blade led Marisol back to the Rissa and away from the aftereffects of carnage. She gave one final forlorn glance over her shoulder at Monte’s body before crossing to his ship. Blade pulled her into another reassuring hug.

  “Marisol, you must know that I am not sorry for taking your brother’s life.” He needed her to hear the truth. She would be insulted by any mask he pretended to wear.

  “I know.”

  She pulled back. Sorrow scored her features. Defenseless, her palpable grief hurt him, physically hurt him.

  “I wish I could say that it is all right,” she said. “I can’t. Not at this moment. I…I need time to come to terms with what Monte has done. To sort out my feelings.”

  Guilt from executing Monte lingered, but only on her behalf, nothing more. “I understand.” He ran the tip of his thumb gently across the many cuts upon her face. Did Monte do that to her, too? May the bugger rot in hell. Blade embraced her again. Selfishly he held her before she returned to her senses and despised him for his role in her misery.

  “We’ve run ’em down, Capt’n.” Willie ambled over to the edge where the ships butted together with a bit of a spring in his step and a rascally twinkle in his spirit. “You’ve got yer treasure back, too.”

  “I sure did.” His embrace tightened around her supple shoulders. The apples of her cheeks rose against him in a smile. He smiled, too.

  “Would ya like someone to take a look at that fer ya, Capt’n?”

  “At what?”

  Willie pointed to Blade’s arm. “At yer wound there.”

  Marisol pulled back. “You’re hurt!” Alarm blotted out the despair in her brown eyes.

  Blade glanced down. Bright red stained his ripped sleeve. He hooked his finger into the tear. Hmm. Hadn’t noticed before. Stinging slithered up his arm. “’Tis merely a flesh wound.”

  “Rubbish. You’re losing a lot of blood.” Her concern touched his heart. Like the morning sun’s rays breaking through the dense branches of a crowded forest, faint light chased away the nightmarish dread of Marisol’s resentment. She must not hate him as much as he feared.

  “Nothing a dressing couldn’t stop.”

  “Let me see for myself.” She pulled his shirt free from his trousers, unlaced it and pushed it down over his shoulders, exposing his chest and arms for a clearer look.

  “I know you can’t resist my body, love, but here? In front of the men? Randy little spitfire, aren’t you?” Blade fully expected her to pop him for his teasing. He hadn’t been prepared for her radiant smirk, impish in the way one side of her smile beamed higher than the other.

  “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, Tyburn.” She waggled the hair sticks at him, like a schoolteacher would to a naughty student. “What would your men think—” she fanned the sticks out across the ship’s decks toward his crew, “—to see their mighty libertine captain toppled from his satiric throne by his mere rum wench?”

  Blade caught her, gathering her to him and, laughing, dipped her down. His hand cupped in the smooth arch of her back. A part of the feminine body he had always adored. “I think they’ll bow down to her in adoration and throw roses at her feet.”

  He smothered her chuckle in a hard, sensual kiss.

  Setting her right he said, “That’s the third time I have saved you. I’d say you owe me much.”

  Her eyebrows rose bit by bit. “I’ll repay your heroic deeds, dear sir, by not haunting you for the rest of your life.”

  The very idea of not spending another magnificent night with his raven-haired bonny would be a curse in itself.

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  Under a waning moon, the firelight flickering from the camps on Mona’s magical beach glimmered in glowing spheres. From the Rissa, Blade saw shadowy figures wander in and out of the mystic light. Jovial music, clanking tankards and hearty laughter carried to his ears across the breaking surf.

  The men worked hard this day. The battle won, the enemy and mutineers captured and imprisoned in the Sugar Lady’s hold, the silver transferred to the Rissa for safekeeping…aye, his men deserved a night of revelry.

  For all the good fortune that shone on him, Blade’s bones creaked of weariness. It had been a difficult journey, but it was Marisol he worried for.

  Another brother gone, forevermore.

  Proper burials were given to Monte and the other dead under a copse of island trees. As captain, and with no man of cloth available, Blade recited a few words for the departed. Marisol stood, a solemn effigy, next to her grousing father. Her lips pressed tight with each smarting slur Carrion hurled. It took all Blade’s strength to keep from planting his fist into Carrion’s flapping clam, shutting him up for good. When the first stone had been placed over the grave, Blade personally clapped irons on to Carrion and had him returned to the Sugar Lady’s bilge to ferment with the other captives. Marisol voiced no objection. Riddled by betrayal, he doubted she’d have anything to say.

  She had spent much of the day in her cabin and had been equally quiet at dinner. He had apologized to her for the suffering he had caused her in slaying Monte, hoping she would see he had no other choice. “His life was a tragedy” was all she had said. Though her smile had been sad, Blade knew she’d event
ually be all right.

  As he closed his eyes, a delectable scent of honey and cream enveloped him. It spread through him like a misty dream and he opened his eyes to find her leaning on the rail beside him.

  “You smell delicious.”

  “I found scented soap in the chest of drawers in my room and sponged with it. I hope you don’t mind,” Marisol said.

  “Not if you don’t mind becoming dessert.”

  “Incorrigible.”

  “Aye.” Good. A smile. She had no inkling how he feared the rays of her radiant smile might engulf him, burn him and cauterize him like a hot iron.

  They shared their silence together, listening to the breezy din of the shore amusement.

  “What will you do with the prisoners?”

  Her question broke the peaceful contentment he had curled himself in. Yet she had a right to know what he planned as Carrion’s fate. He turned to lean his arm on the railing, to drink in her profile in the moonlight, to watch for approval.

  “Drake will turn over the mutineers and the Sugar Lady’s crew to the authorities in Puerto Plata, declaring he caught the rioters. Your father will be set free at port with the understanding he immediately sails out of my waters and finds new dogs with which to lie.”

  Her shoulders dropped noticeably and she turned to face him, nodding. She had been pleased with him for allowing Carrion’s release instead of bringing him before a counsel of the brotherhood for sentencing. There, the brethren would surely have him executed for treason.

  “His men that wish to carry on with him are free to go, as well,” he added. “Or they may sign on with Drake.”

  “And the Sugar Lady? Will Captain Drake have her?”

  “Aye. Until he finds a worthy ship to call his own.”

  “The silver?”

  A sharp mind, she had, wanting all the details. An essential quality for a woman who desired to be a wily buccaneer. “We sail to Santo Domingo and deliver the silver to Charles Windham as planned.”

  “Why not keep it for yourself? You can claim the silver went down with the Gloria during the hurricane. Split it amongst yourselves. After all you’ve endured to get it back, you deserve it. It’s yours.”

  The moonlight disappeared under a passing cloud. She looked up and as the luminous light reemerged, Blade wondered if the brightness in her eyes could have been due to the prospect of bearing so many riches.

  “Tempting, love. But unwise.”

  She glanced back to him, curiosity in her expression.

  “Not all prizes come from a ship’s cargo hold,” he explained. “A little trust and valuable, advantageous information can guarantee a man’s wealth. Instant gratification lasts only until the pocket is empty. A day or two, at most. My men and I will be well compensated for this voyage. Not only in coin but in the steady quarries.”

  She grew quiet again, distant, perhaps contemplating his uncharacteristic pirating strategy.

  “That would take great patience,” she said. “Many aren’t blessed with that virtue. Especially pirates who risk everything with each voyage.”

  “When a man retires from the Rissa, he is quite wealthy and will likely live the rest of his days comfortably.”

  She gazed back to the festivities on the beach. “You’re an odd sort of pirate, Captain Blade Tyburn.”

  “One who still claims entitlement to a beautiful serving wench.”

  Her mouth popped open. “You can’t be serious?”

  “You weren’t much for keeping my cups full.” He frowned and pretended to ponder that. “However, I’m not ready to end your indenture.”

  “And just what would you have me to do?” She leaned in close, her shoulder touching his, and slipped him a coy smirk.

  “Say you will travel with me to Santo Domingo.”

  Standing upright, surprise flowered across her face. “I’d like that.”

  “Good. It is settled then.” He twisted around and leaned his back against the rail. A trace of honey wafted on a passing breeze. His mouth watered and suddenly he thirsted to taste her skin. “Would you care to join me in my cabin for a glass of Madeira wine? It is an excellent wine to go with…dessert.”

  “I am feeling a little parched.”

  His heart pranced at her wicked wink. Taking her hand he led her to his sanctuary.

  In the warm glow of candlelight, her hair glistened like ebony glass and her eyes of the clearest amber flickered with desire. A desire that blistered him to his core.

  He undressed her with deliberate care, not wanting to miss one inch of her already moist olive skin. Taking her into his bed, he explored her body in relishing kisses. To each of his gingered touches, Marisol responded with sighing moans and searing sweeps of her lips. But it was her tiny gasp as he eased inside her he treasured. She locked eyes with him, a sweet, yet wanton smile gracing her open mouth. Only when he slowly pulled out did she exhale.

  He could get carried away by her sounds, her touch. Oh God, her touch. Warm hands wandered down his back and settled on his arse, sending explosive currents of need coursing through him. She squeezed, pulling him down and lifting her hips to meet him. He immediately obliged, entering her again. This time he would make love to her. Slow, easy, passionate love.

  Inch by inch, Marisol matched him. Their ethereal shadows danced on the cabin walls with the movement of perfect harmony. He tasted her tangy neck, lapped the hollow of her throat, suckled each drawn nipple. His mouth on her skin was more delectable than the smoothest Madeira wine. She ran a hand through his hair and seized the back of his neck. Delicious pain shot across his back as her fingernails dug into his flesh. Marisol was nearly there. He plunged deeper, faster to push her over the edge. Her legs slung around his waist and she threw her head back into his pillow, a scream catching in her throat. Watching her excited him all the more. And in squeezing him tight, she increased the friction. He pumped once, twice, and he too seized, spilling over and joining her in ecstasy.

  Nothing, by land nor by sea, had prepared him for Marisol.

  Blade had fought against the foreign feeling of love, having never really experienced it. He had misunderstood what love really meant. It wasn’t lying down with a woman, exchanging heat and passion. It was much more than that. It was sharing his essence with someone, trusting her, breathing her in as if she were the very lifeblood that kept a man alive.

  Marisol was that woman. And he intended to never let her go.

  * * *

  Tucked within his arm, bonded against his damp, naked flesh, her body tingled under the lazy circles his fingertips drew along her hip. The ecstasy they created together left Marisol in a swoon of serenity. A master he had been at bringing her pleasure again and again, but when he relinquished control to her, the empowerment of becoming his equal shone new light on her connection with him. She licked her lips, still tasting his earthy salt on her tongue.

  The hole left behind by all she had lost, Blade replenished, filling her heart to the brim with a unique, special kind of love. The fresh emotion scared her. Aye, the pirate indeed struck terror into her, and she decided she liked the fear—a lot.

  Staring at the flames stretching from the candelabra wicks, she prayed the dream would never end. Marisol rolled her head up and pecked a kiss on his chin. He hummed in appreciation.

  “I have something for you, dove.”

  “Again? Don’t you ever grow tired?”

  He laughed. “Not with you, my sweet.”

  She eyed his perfect backside as he left the bed. She should be ashamed to stare, but by the heavens, she was not. He removed something from the top drawer of his desk and she sat up as he returned to sit on the edge of the mattress.

  “Marisol, you have taught me more about myself than I could have ever discovered on my own.”

  Perplexed, she shook her head. “I don’t under—”

  “Shh. No words.”

  He slipped his fingers over her hand and gently turned her palm upward. For a brief moment, the roug
h pad of his thumb rubbed across her inner sensitive skin. She became rapt in his eyes that held her steadfast, unnerved by their vulnerability.

  Blade closed her fingers over a small round object. A knot embedded in her throat and she struggled to swallow it down.

  “This cameo has been an emblem of my damnation.”

  Afraid she would burst if she lingered in his stare, trapped by his words, she tore her eyes away and looked to the cameo gracing her palm.

  “Because of my sins,” he continued, “I deemed myself unworthy, a bloody scoundrel, not fit for life’s greatest joys.” He cupped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “But you, you came along, and well, I realized I was wrong. Thank you, my love. Take from me my cameo again, for I no longer need it.”

  Marisol tasted her own tears as he placed a tender kiss to her lips.

  She may have been the thief. But he had stolen her heart.

  Not ready to trim the sails and head for shore just yet? Stay the course with The Bruised Sea, the next book in the Romancing the Pirate series, coming in May.

  The Bruised Sea

  Gilly is fleeing from the man who murdered her lover. When her boat goes down in a storm and she’s rescued by a pirate crew, she may have found herself in more trouble than she bargained for. The captain, Thayer Drake, is fascinated by Gilly and can’t help but try to protect her even though he suspects she is keeping too many secrets. When she is kidnapped and given into the custody of Drake’s arch nemesis, Drake has to act fast. But can he trust Gilly? Will he be able to save her when the stakes are high?

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  About the Author

  Jennifer Bray-Weber has always wished for real life to mimic fantastical tales of adventure, especially those of the high seas. Holding two degrees, one in music and video business, the other in liberal arts, she continued her higher education, that is, until a professor challenged her to further express her creative talents and write a novel. Never one to back down from a dare, her passion led her to write stories of pirates, with her debut novel, Upon a Moonlit Sea, among the 2009 Golden Heart Award historical finalists.