Paula Reed - [Caribbean]

by Nobodys Saint

  Once she was clean and dry and her hair unpinned, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He would have picked up where he had left off, but she sat up and tugged his shirt free of his breeches. Together, they rid him of his clothes, and he felt a surge of lust when he saw her eyes go wide at the sight of him. She reached out, grasped him, fascinated, and he guided her so she brought him the same pleasure that he had earlier given her. They kissed, touched, tasted, both eager for more but wanting it all to last. It occurred to Diego that shy, demure virgins were vastly overvalued.

  Mary Kate loved the hard feel of his lean body, the mixture of satin smoothness and steely hardness of his sex. She feasted on the slightly salty taste of his skin and breathed the crisp scent of citrus that clung to him. She spread her legs for him and welcomed the touch of his hand, the invasion of his strong fingers.

  “Tell me that you are mine,” he whispered as his caresses took her higher and higher.

  “I am yours, always yours,” she gasped, just before she lost all thought, all sense of herself as being anything separate from him. She had hardly come back from that place when she felt him move over her, and it seemed completely natural to wrap her legs around him and guide him to her opening. He leaned down and kissed her even as he filled her below, stretching her and taking her back to hover at that tantalizing edge. When he stopped, she thought she would die.

  “I do not want to hurt you,” he murmured.

  Her voice was considerably louder. “Damn you, Diego Montoya, now!”

  He thrust, and she gasped at the sudden stab of pain.

  “I am so sorry—” he began, but she felt a need far more agonizing than any pain, and she ground her hips to his with a savage groan, heedless of another sharp stab.

  Diego was lost. He captured her head between his hands and took her mouth with the same ferocity as he took her virginity, knowing by the way that she thrust in return that she could not be too hurt. He tore his mouth away, and she moaned words in a random mix of English, Spanish, and her own tongue, and when he felt her walls contract around him, he poured himself into her, his own voice joining hers.

  He collapsed on top of her, and she went completely limp. The second loveliest feeling in the world, Mary Kate decided, was the feeling of a man’s dead weight on one’s sweat-drenched, sated body. She wiggled happily under him.

  “Am I crushing you?” he asked, starting to lift himself.

  “Don’t you dare!” she protested. She pulled him down and nipped his lower lip playfully.

  He rested on his elbows so he could look at her, but left the rest of himself pressed against her warm body. “Te quiero.”

  “Does that mean you want me, you love me, or you need me?” she asked.

  “All three.”

  “How lovely.” She moved her hips underneath him. “You’ll be getting very little sleep tonight,” she warned.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Mary Kate had a feeling of anticipation almost as intense as the one she had felt the night before as Diego and Salvador loaded her trunks into a boat to take them out to Magdalena. Salvador rowed that boat, while she and Diego climbed into the second. Looking around she muttered, “If you had a second set of oars, I could help.”

  Diego gave her an affronted look. “You did not weaken me so much last night.”

  She pulled a face at him. “Not because of that. Lord, I’ve never felt so full of energy in my life! I just want to get there faster, is all. I want to be at sea!”

  Diego chuckled and started to row. “You are perfect.”

  Mary Kate tossed her head. “Close enough, I am. But will you tell me you haven’t found a flaw or two?”

  “You are shameless and brazen.”

  “Flaws, Diego, you were supposed to be finding flaws.”

  “Ah—flaws. I had forgotten. I look at you and see only your virtues.”

  “I’m stubborn, and I have a dreadful temper.”

  “A strong spirit,” he amended. “And besides, I may have a flaw or two of my own.”

  Mary Kate snorted. “Only two?”

  He lifted his brows. “There are more?”

  “Well, to begin, you are insufferably proper.”

  “Flaws, María Catalina, we are discussing flaws.”

  “As I said, insufferably proper. And stuffy and formal.”

  “You wound me. Are those not all the same flaw?”

  “Oh, no, each is one on its own. But as far as I can tell, they’re easy enough to remedy.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye, they all vanish if I’m naked.”

  “Then you shall have to arrange to be naked often.”

  “I shall.”

  He looked at his ship, growing closer with every stroke. “But when you are clothed, perhaps a little decorum would not be too much to ask.”

  Mary Kate’s voice softened. “Ah, so we’re on to my flaws after all.” When he would have protested, she raised her hand. “I’ll be living among your people, and having to learn your customs. I can do that. You forget, Diego, I can be anything I have to be.”

  He stopped rowing for a moment. “María Catalina, if I had wanted a thoroughly Spanish wife, I would have married one. Be yourself.”

  While he finished rowing, Mary Kate mulled the matter over in her mind. All her life she had had to dig in her heels to get what she wanted. She had it all, now. She had a fine husband and the wind and water and a lifetime of adventure ahead of her. It wouldn’t always be easy, and there would be times that her strong will would stand her in good stead, but it seemed she might be able to be soft now and again, as well. It was a comforting thought.

  They stayed in the boat while it was hauled back up to the deck, and Galeno gave her an enthusiastic welcome. To her surprise, she was also introduced to Diego’s handsome younger brother, Rico. One look into his dark eyes said the lad was full of the devil, and her new husband had his hands full. Though she knew she should probably sort through her things and get settled permanently into Diego’s cabin, she hated to miss heading out to sea and watching the coast disappear. As the island began to fade, an unexpectedly sharp sadness pierced her. She wished she could have said goodbye to her family. She had said it when she had moved to Londonderry, but there had been promises of visits. She would miss the birth of Bridget’s child.

  “Can we come back someday?” she asked Diego.

  He nodded. “It was an easy enough matter to make port in Carndonagh. We can send word to them to meet us.”

  The tight feeling in her chest loosened a little. “It will be far off any course you might follow.” Then she smiled. “But then, it will be your ship.”

  Diego looked a little grim. “Not for a while, yet. I have taken us far off course in this voyage, and it has cost me. I have paid for the extra supplies we took on in Carndonagh from my own funds, and we will be paid less in Cartagena because we will be quite late. It is only right that I compensate my crew with what money I do make. It will be a while yet before Magdalena is mine.”

  Mary Kate was speechless, a rare thing indeed. She didn’t know which touched her more, that he had put off the fulfillment of a dream he had been working toward for years or the fact that he had risked his reputation for unfailing reliability just to come and get her. When she found her voice, all she could say was “Te quiero, Diego.”

  Nothing in the world was as sweet to Diego’s ear as the sound of María Catalina’s lilting accent flavoring his own language so musically. It was exactly the same voice that had spoken to him three years ago and told him that, while he was a man of generous heart and great pride, sometimes what he wished for most was not meant to be.

  Finally, Magdalena, he thought, it is meant to be.

  “Captain,” Salvador said, breaking the mood. “I think there is a vessel pursuing us.”

  Diego accepted his first mate’s spyglass and turned around from his place at the helm. There was a ship flying an English flag directly behind them. “From Ulst
er, I imagine, making sure we are well on our way with no thought of returning to their waters.”

  “They have been closing on us for some time now. I think they mean to overtake us.”

  “But why?”

  “What’s going on?” Mary Kate asked. She would definitely have to work hard with Galeno to be able to keep up with rapid-fire Spanish. “What’s all this about a ship and returning to Ulster?”

  “I assure you that we are not returning to Ulster. It is probably nothing. Still, I think you should go below and unpack, querida.”

  She grabbed the spyglass and looked through it. “Is that the ship you’re worried about?”

  “I am not worried—” He reached for the glass, but she moved it out of his reach.

  “Are they chasing us?”

  “We do not know yet. May I have that?”

  She ignored him and put it to her eye. “I think they are. Now, why would they be doing that?”

  “We are close to English waters. Give me the glass.”

  “English waters? Where? The last I knew, we were just off the coast of Ireland.”

  He finally wrested the glass from her hand. “Tell that to their captain.”

  “I will. Where will I find a sword?”

  “A what?”

  “A sword.” At the look on his face, she set her hands on her hips. “You know damned well I can handle one.”

  He straightened up and rested his free hand on his hip. “I can keep you safe, María Catalina.”

  “That’s not the point, Diego. We’re in this together from here out.”

  “Captain,” Salvador interrupted in Spanish, clearly frustrated with their foreign conversation, “do you have orders for the crew?”

  Diego motioned to a crewman to man the helm. Ignoring Mary Kate’s indignant gasp, he walked away from her and began shouting orders. Better to have the guns primed and not have to use them than to lose time later. He told the helmsman to alter their course and pick up speed. If the English ship followed suit, then they would know what they were up against.

  Mary Kate started to follow him, but Galeno stepped between them and began translating Diego’s orders for her, explaining what they were doing and what evasive maneuvers the captain was most likely to employ. No matter how hard she tried to get past him, the boy was absolutely tenacious. Whether she was the captain’s wife or not, she would not be allowed to interfere. Finally, she shot Galeno a venomous glare and stomped off below deck. As she had known he would, he assumed she had given up and gone to Diego’s cabin to unpack, so she was unimpeded in her search for a weapon.

  On deck, Diego’s pulse raced as the navy ship grew closer. There could be no doubt now. They were in pursuit, and they were far faster. Salvador kept his glass on them and finally turned to Diego with a dour expression. “I count seventy-four guns, Captain. The side says Intrepid. Is that not one of the ships that met us when we arrived?”

  Diego nodded and pondered his options. They were not outrunning the other ship, and they were so far outgunned that a fight was out of the question. “Heave to,” he said. “Let us see what it is that they want.”

  *

  Fredrick Fielding smiled as he watched Magdalena take in her sails. He turned to his friend Stuart, who had been watching the other ship through his spyglass, and said, “You see. This won’t take any longer than our usual patrol. If everyone can just keep his mouth shut, the admiral need never know that we came this far out.”

  Stuart gave him a glum look. “Tell me again why we’re doing this?”

  “Because I am not about to lose to a Spaniard. ‘Tis an affront to us all!”

  “She’s just an Irish girl,” Stuart protested. “There are dozens of them back at port. Besides, not one of us has ever managed to get past the occasional pat on the arse with her, and even doing that is a risk.” He rubbed his head, remembering her assault with a bar tray.

  “Which is precisely why I wanted her. You may be happy with a hundred other men’s leavings. I’m not.”

  “Well, if she ran off to meet him, she’s that Spaniard’s leavings now.”

  Fredrick sneered. “‘Tis no longer about the woman. ‘Tis about having a little pride. A Spaniard, Stuart.”

  “All the more evidence that she has no taste. If the admiral hears about this…”

  “He won’t!”

  “…it will be the end of your career.”

  Fredrick walked away and shouted to his men as they pulled up along side Magdalena. In moments, grappling hooks flew, and he crossed over to confront his rival. The arrogant Spanish bastard didn’t even have the courtesy to come over and greet him. He stood on the bridge, feet apart, and waited. Fredrick stood his ground, too. He wasn’t going to answer anyone’s implied summons, but after standing there in a face-off for the better part of a minute, he began to feel foolish.

  “Well?” he demanded, shouting so Montoya could hear him.

  “Well, what, Captain? It is you who have given chase to my ship. You who have boarded without invitation. I assume you have some reason.”

  Fredrick looked around him and felt an instant of panic. He didn’t see Mary Kate anywhere. He knew her well enough to know she would never cower in hiding somewhere. What if she wasn’t here at all? What if the Spaniard had been telling the truth and had only wanted to check on her? Maybe he had learned she was safe and was on his way without her.

  He lifted his chin and hoped no one could see past his bravado. “I am looking for an Englishwoman who I believe may be on board your vessel.”

  Montoya crossed his arms. “Then you are mistaken. I am harboring no Englishwoman.”

  “Irish!” came Stuart’s voice from behind him, on board Intrepid. “The girl is Irish! Comely wench with long, black hair!”

  Fredrick closed his fists. Bloody idiot! The last thing he needed was for one of his own men to contradict him in front of the other captain.

  “Ah! I think you may be looking for my wife!”

  Fredrick felt his face go hot and his muscles tense. “That’s a bloody lie! Her name’s O’Reilly not Montoya, and you said nothing of being married to her the day before yesterday.”

  “That is because the day before yesterday I was not married to her. Besides, in Spain, a woman keeps her own name.”

  Fredrick drew his sword and advanced up the stairs. “Then you tricked her! You could never have gotten a license that fast.” And she was ruined! Ruined by a filthy Spaniard! He forgot all about the fact that he had never really stood a chance with her to begin with.

  Montoya drew his own sword but stood his ground without moving. “This is ridiculous, Captain. There was nothing between you. This is none of your affair.”

  Fredrick mounted the steps to the bridge. “Ridiculous? You dare to call me ridiculous?”

  “Come back!” Stuart called. “‘Tis over Freddy. What care you whether she’s really married or not? For God’s sake, she’s Irish!”

  Ridiculous? Him? Stuart was the one being ridiculous. If Stuart had taken her, well, Fredrick would have been irate, but he would have gotten over it. Irish or not, she had turned down every Englishman she had ever served a drink to and chosen a Spaniard! Without a word of warning, he swung his sword, and Montoya barely had a moment to react and dodge the whistling blade. Fredrick’s next sweep hit steel, and the duel was on.

  *

  For all that Diego thought this man to be one of the stupidest he had ever encountered, he could understand his position. After all, there was once a time that, if one of his sisters had married an Englishman, he would have felt honor-bound to make her a widow.

  He parried a thrust and stepped back. “There is no need for this,” he said.

  Fielding sneered. “I consider it sport as much as necessity.”

  Diego moved to put the helm between them, but Fielding circled around it. None of Diego’s men moved, save the one who reached out to stay Rico from joining in. They were far outgunned and outmanned, and this was clearly a fig
ht between only the two captains.

  Another sailor crossed from Intrepid, but no one else followed, and Diego shifted his attention back to Fielding, whose blade clashed again with his own.

  “Would you like to see her?” Diego asked. “She will tell you she is here of her own free will. I can show you our marriage lic—”

  A quick thrust, and Diego nearly tripped to avoid it. The man was truly trying to kill him!

  “Hiding behind a woman? I always knew the Spanish were cowards.”

  Diego shifted from defense to attack. “I was most certainly not hiding! I was trying to save your life.”

  Three strokes, one right after the other. Fielding parried the first two. The third drew blood at his shoulder, and the Englishman’s sneer evaporated.

  “Concede defeat, and we can stop this madness,” Diego said.

  “Ha!” Fielding barked. He tried to advance, but Diego dodged out of the way, danced back, and neatly sliced a button from the other man’s coat.

  “I do not want to kill you,” he repeated.

  There was no mistaking the fear on Fielding’s face, but there was a stubborn set to his mouth, and he was trying to advance again. Truly, Diego had no desire to run the other captain through, but he would have dearly loved the chance to switch from blades to fists. He did not want to kill him, but he absolutely intended to win.

  He pushed forward, his blade moving with graceful speed, slicing fabric, nicking skin, even taking a lock from Fielding’s wig before it finally caught his sword just right and sent it flying. He grabbed Fielding’s collar and forced him to his knees, his sword pressed to the Englishman’s throat.

  And then he felt a blade in his back, the point quite possibly piercing his coat. The second sailor from Intrepid. Who else could it be?

  “You are going to stab me in the back, hijo de puta?”