Valentine

by Heather Grothaus

  “You were going to walk to Damascus and have a talk with Saladin?”

  Francisco let a grin slip over his face. “It was so much like before. But, yes. That was my intention. Only I was penniless. And so I had to find a way to make my own fortune. I took a place on a ship out of Ritzebuttel, and found I had a . . . talent for the work. Now this—” he sat up straighter and held out his arms—“this is my ship. The Azure Skull. I am no longer a boy, nor am I a coward.”

  Valentine felt his eyebrows rise. “You are captain of your own trading ship?”

  Francisco twisted his grin into a thoughtful moue. “I do no do so much trading as acquiring.”

  After a moment, Valentine closed his eyes, chuckling silently. “You are a pirate,” he whispered.

  Francisco leaned forward with a wide smile that was so like the ones he’d worn as a boy. “I am a pirate!”

  Valentine’s mirth led to another coughing fit, and so Francisco helped him to some more water and then sat back on his stool.

  “Congratulations,” Valentine said, feeling the effects of the conversation dragging him down like the tide once more to sleep. But he forced himself to tread water; he desperately wanted to see Maria. He needed to see her. “Unfortunately, there is little you can do for me now. Especially since your vocation is rather—notorious, and without regard in the higher circles. I fear you have wasted your time in locating me.”

  “I have no,” Francisco said and leaned forward once more, his expression alert, almost anticipatory. “I had greater cause to find you now than ever before. If only you had stayed in Prague another day.”

  “What does Prague have to do with any of this?” Valentine asked.

  “I still love Teresa,” Francisco said, his features softening. “And I wish your permission to marry her.”

  Valentine blinked. “You want . . . it is you? You are the man?”

  Francisco nodded.

  “But . . . you are a pirate,” Valentine reasoned, lifting his right hand toward Francisco. “I can no have my sister married to such a criminal.”

  “Because two criminals in her family would be too many?” Francisco quipped. “I will no have her climbing rigging, Valentine. I have amassed such wealth that I can pursue other interests once we are wed.”

  Valentine’s eyebrows rose again. “Truly?”

  “Well, perhaps I would engage in it occasionally. As a hobby, yes? I do enjoy it, and it is a very profitable profession.”

  “I clearly chose the wrong path in my life’s work,” Valentine muttered.

  “But do you no see?” Francisco insisted, leaning forward once more, his wide grin returned. “This is your opportunity, cousin!”

  “Francisco, I am tired.”

  “I know. But only listen to me a bit longer and I will fetch your Maria.” He scooted forward on his stool and held his hands out, as if the ideas he spoke of were tangible objects between his palms. “You are a terrible criminal, yes?”

  “No.”

  “No, of course you aren’t. But . . . yes.”

  Valentine sighed. “All right. Yes.”

  “You have nowhere to go once this woman you are with is returned to her home, save—I assume—the place your criminal friends are hiding, yes?”

  “Correct.”

  “So, you do no return to those men. You come with me, learn the life, and then take the ship over when Teresa and I marry.”

  Valentine blinked. “You want me to become a pirate?”

  “Why no?” Francisco asked, holding out his arms. “You are already a wanted man. You would have more gold than you could ever amass otherwise and the freedom of the sea. Flying under my flag, none would dare challenge you. Assume my name and none would ever know The Azure Skull had changed hands. It would be as if Valentine Alesander no longer existed.”

  The weight of his cousin’s words seemed to sink into Valentine’s body and spread, like a foamy wave breaking on the sand. With each moment that passed, Valentine realized Francisco’s plan could actually work.

  “I will have to think about it,” he said.

  “My proposition? Or Teresa and I marrying?”

  “Both.” Valentine sighed. “I do no think I can be called Francisco.”

  Valentine’s cousin laughed as he stood. “Oh, I do no go by Francisco,” he said, and then swept his feathered hat from the end of the berth with a flourish and placed it on his head. “I am La Ave Mortal!”

  Valentine felt the corners of his mouth pull downward. “That is worse than Francisco.”

  His cousin held his palms up toward Valentine. “You think about it, yes? I will send down your woman.”

  Valentine was asleep again by the time Mary stepped carefully down the steep stairs into Francisco’s cabin, easily balancing the tray of food against the rolling of the ship.

  Apparently, she was her father’s daughter after all.

  She slid the tray over the narrow lip of the shelf on the wall and noted that he now had bright patches of color on his cheeks, where only this morning a shroud of gray had given him the disturbing appearance of lifelessness. Valentine’s conversation with his cousin had obviously done much to revive him, and it gladdened Mary’s heart.

  The scrape of the wood caused him to stir, and his eyes found her immediately. “Maria,” he whispered, his lips curving into a smile as he slid his arm away from his body on the mattress, his palm up.

  Mary did not hesitate, climbing into the narrow bed and nestling against Valentine’s side as if she had done it a hundred times, as if her very soul was not rocked by admission of his need for her. She wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her face into his ribs. Mary felt his arm come around her shoulders and his lips brush the crown of her head.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said into his skin, for once not resentful of the sudden tears that leaked from her eyes.

  “Mi amor . . .”

  She turned her face up to his, and he kissed her forehead. Then each eye, the apples of her cheeks, and, when Mary tilted her chin up a fraction more, his lips were gentle on hers.

  Only for a moment, though, and then he let his head rest fully onto the pillow again. “Tell me what happened at the Queen.”

  And so, after retrieving a cup of wine and a bit of bread for Valentine to eat, Mary sat on the edge of the bed and relayed every detail she could recall of that dreadful night, beginning with the moment she had entered the kitchen and had a tray thrust at her. Valentine appeared quite impressed when she revealed the large price on his head.

  “In the end, I did not know if Hamish would harm you or protect you,” she finished. “But you were in no condition to make that decision, and I knew if I did not err on the side of caution, we could both end up dead.”

  Valentine was nodding even as he swallowed the mouthful of wine. “You made the right choice, Maria. Hamish has been a good friend, but I would never ask him to choose between me and his family.”

  Mary gaped at him. “You would not fault him for turning you over for the silver?”

  Valentine shrugged. “I do no think he would have implicated you in any way merely for being in my company,” he hedged, picking off another piece of the hard bread and chewing it while he spoke. “I am certain Hamish would have seen that you were protected from the men hunting me.”

  Mary drew a deep breath. She had withheld from Valentine only one detail of the disaster, saving it for the very end. “It wasn’t the mercenaries I worried about,” she said. “Valentine, my betrothed was part of that gathering.”

  He stopped chewing and looked at her for a moment. He swallowed with some effort and said, “The man you are to marry? He was there?”

  “Yes,” she said bitterly, and then reached down into the pocket of her borrowed servant’s apron and pulled out Glayer Felsteppe’s weighty purse. “I stole this from him.” She dropped the purse onto Valentine’s stomach. “It’s probably Beckham Hall’s coin, any matter.”

  “I see,” he said, picking up
the bag and examining it in his palm, turning it this way and that, testing its weight. “That would have indeed changed your situation greatly, had we been discovered. At least we know there is a good possibility that we will gain England before him.” Valentine gave the bag a little toss and caught it again. “Well done, Maria.”

  Mary nodded absently. She didn’t really want to discuss anything at all having to do with Glayer Felsteppe at the moment. Soon, yes. Soon she would bring it up. But not now. Not while Valentine was still so weak and she so glad to be near him.

  “Francisco seemed very happy when he came for me,” she offered instead. “Did he tell you?”

  “About Teresa?”

  “About Teresa, about Enrique—about everything.”

  Valentine gave a weary smile. “Look at you, knowing so much. Yes, he did.”

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

  “I do no know that it is wonderful,” he said with a grimace. “But it is better than I feared when Teresa told me she wished to marry. You know he is a pirate as well, I presume.”

  Mary grinned. “It’s very exciting. Your cousin cuts quite the dashing figure on deck.”

  Her heart thrilled to see Valentine’s face darken. “The Deadly Bird. Bah. He is still so much a boy. Playing at pretend battles as we used to do as children.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he’s playing,” Mary said, letting a touch of admiration tinge her words. “Considering the size of this ship, I can only think he’s likely very good at what he does.”

  Valentine snorted and rolled his eyes. “I want my coin back from Teresa.”

  Mary struggled against her smile while she scooted closer and tucked his coverings around him. “Will you rest now?”

  “I am tired,” he conceded. But he grasped her wrist when she prepared to rise, and Mary’s stomach jolted at the possessive gesture. “Where have you been sleeping?” he demanded. “Francisco’s crew is—”

  She cut off his words with a finger to his lips. “No one has offended me, Valentine. They’re all quite gentlemanly.” His eyes were murderous, and so she turned slightly and pointed to the narrow cot beneath the stairs. “I’ve been right here with you the entire time.”

  The fight went out of him, then, and the creases in his face rearranged into a self-deprecating smile. “Is it comfortable? That little bed?”

  “It’s no Snowy Owl,” she admitted.

  “Would you stay with me? Here, in this bed?” he clarified. “I would keep you close while we are surrounded by such brigands.”

  Mary’s heart pounded in her chest and she leaned forward to place a brief kiss on his lips and he responded, hesitant at first, as if unsure. At last, at last . . .

  “I will stay anywhere you want me,” she whispered. “But first, you must tell me—what does mi amor mean?”

  His smile was so gentle. “It means ‘my donkey.’”

  Mary felt her face go slack and she sat up, staring at him.

  “It is a precious endearment in my country,” Valentine explained, his lips twitching. “They are such sweet creatures, yes? So simple and helpless.”

  “I am your donkey?” Mary asked, her cheeks heating. “Your donkey?”

  Then Valentine laughed out loud and pulled her back to him. “Oh, Maria, Maria. Mi amor means ‘my love.’ What else could you be?”

  Chapter 20

  The next day, Valentine felt strong enough to venture above for a slow turn about the aft castle with Maria on his arm. That night, she helped him ready a makeshift bath, although she excused herself just prior to the removal of his clothing. Valentine found that he only just stopped his request for her to stay by biting his blasted tongue. Later, she crawled into the berth with him once more, her rough servant’s underdress for a nightshift, and he welcomed her into his arms, molded her warm curves and soft, unbound breasts to his body, and they fell asleep that way.

  They woke in the morn with a lingering kiss, one that stretched the bounds of Valentine’s will to such lengths that he feared he would go mad. But he managed to escape her before she dressed. That night, he was plagued with fiery dreams of Maria beneath him. The next morning, she was—and Valentine’s hands were caressing her breasts as he came fully awake.

  He dropped his head to her mouth, kissed her hard and deep, but then flung himself from the berth with a growl, grabbed his shirt and boots, and stomped above deck.

  He missed her sitting up in the bed, watching him go with her fingertips pressed to her mouth, curved in a slight smile.

  He was consumed with thoughts of her as he strode across the deck. Her body. Her voice. Her smell. As if to reinforce her sweetness, the bilge water below sloshed and belched up its foul stench. Valentine dropped his boots to the deck and jerked his shirt over his head and then propped his hip atop a coil while he pulled on his boots. Then he leaned against the rail and looked out at the unbroken sea, gray and reflecting the overcast sky.

  “We will be in sight of land by morrow’s setting sun.” Francisco had come upon him silently, or perhaps Valentine was so preoccupied by the woman below that he simply had not heard his cousin approach. Either way, it increased his crossness.

  Valentine made a sound in his throat to indicate he’d heard the news. It was sooner than he’d guessed, and the realization that in as few as two days he and Maria would part turned his heart to stone.

  “Have you considered my offer?” Francisco asked.

  “I have,” Valentine said. “You have my blessing to marry Teresa. Where will the two of you go?”

  “Back to Aragon,” Francisco said. Valentine looked at him quickly, surprised, and his cousin continued. “We both miss it so. There are plenty of impoverished estates that I might purchase. And,” he added nonchalantly, “it is a convenient place for one who makes his life on the sea, yes? Or perhaps for one who makes his life on the sea to visit?”

  “That is true,” Valentine agreed. Then he sighed. “Francisco, I am no seaman. And if I am caught . . .”

  “You would be killed, of course,” Francisco finished. “But that would happen if you were discovered on a ship or in whatever cave you and your friends have carved out for yourselves. I would wager you have better chance on a fast ship, with a crew to watch your back. You have nothing to do with those men’s troubles.”

  “Perhaps I did not in the beginning,” Valentine conceded. “But I gave my word that I would return.”

  Francisco shrugged, picked at his teeth with a little splinter of wood. “If not for you, they would already all be long dead.”

  Valentine had no reply, and so he continued to stare out at the hypnotic sea. He would soon be forced to give up Maria. Should he not, for once in his life, move toward a thing for only the good of himself?

  He thought of brutish Roman and his feathered companion, Lou. The embittered and withdrawn Adrian; the quiet and steadfast Constantine. His friends now, all. Even exasperating Father Victor and the handful of monks he had come to know during his incarceration at Melk. Could he really leave all of them behind and start a new life?

  He would still be just as lonely without Maria.

  He would still be a wanted man with no home.

  But on the sea, perhaps he could begin to forget. And if he could not forget, at least no one would be there to see him mourn.

  “Yes,” Valentine said suddenly.

  Francisco’s head swung toward him. “Yes . . . ?”

  “Yes, I will take The Skull.”

  Francisco was silent for a moment, and then he gave a great whoop, wrapping his arm around Valentine’s shoulder and pounding his back. “You have gladdened my heart no end, cousin! This is a new beginning for us both, do you see? The legacy we shall leave for our children—a family trade, passed down from father to son.” He paused, as if thinking. “Or uncle to nephew. It does not matter!” He laughed aloud and pulled Valentine into a one-armed embrace again. “What matters is that we are reunited, reconciled, partners!” He gave a growl in the back of his t
hroat. “I feel like stealing something!”

  Francisco turned away and marched off toward the wheel, his jolly command growing fainter as he left the deck, his feather bobbing. “Roland! Roland, find me a ship!”

  Valentine turned his face toward the sea again. One more night with Maria on The Skull. Two at most, and then they would be at her home. He would make his mark on the petition and leave her to her new life, while he departed to make a new life of his own. How would his view of the world change without her sweetness, her innocent excitement at every new thing to mellow his cynicism? Valentine doubted he would ever be at peace enough to adopt Francisco’s enthusiastic abandon. Enrique’s bitterness and greed came to his mind—perhaps that was his destiny, his own dark heritage. No delight, no spontaneity. What would be the point, without Maria to share it with him?

  And would Maria be happy? Perhaps in time. Once she had the family she’d always yearned for. Perhaps she would forget about him, and he hoped that she would. She was too pure, too good, to be saddled with regret of any sort, and certainly not over a penniless criminal such as himself.

  But Valentine knew that he meant something to Maria, even if her feelings were naïve. Their time together would forever be viewed as a turning point in her life. And so he would leave her with something positive to remember him by, if it was the only thing he could do for her save to set her free.

  He pushed away from the railing and went looking for his bag.

  Valentine kept to himself a large portion of the day, sitting removed from the bustle of the deck. It appeared to Mary as though he were trying to save the little journal he sometimes wrote in, which had been soaked in the Elbe. So she sought to keep herself entertained, which was not difficult once the sailor in the crow’s nest called down that a ship had been spotted on their horizon.

  Francisco looked through his glass for what seemed to Mary to be an hour before he lowered it with a foreign expletive and then shook his head.