Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  He opened one of the four bumpkins left for him in the room. The heavy aroma of the liquor smelled delicious. Grabbing a metal cup from the shelf, he sank down into a chair and poured the rum. The smooth elixir burned down his throat and warmed his gut. A few more hearty sips eased the pain throbbing in his ribs and kept the headache from growing worse.

  His mind drifted to Catalina. Beautiful as she was, she was going to be trouble. What kind or how much, he couldn’t tell. She was unpredictable. Unpredictable appealed to his recklessness. ’Twould not bode well for him or his men to be reckless now. Nonetheless, he looked forward to dining with the woman tonight.

  The ship lurched forward. And so the journey had begun. Time to go topside.

  Valeryn poured another cupful to the rim, toasted to trouble, and downed the spicy drink in one gulp.

  CHAPTER 4

  Dark clouds to the east spread across the sky like spilled ink. Amalia, bathed in the sunlight the encroaching veil had yet to crowd out, skirted along the edge of a storm. The circulating winds worked in their favor. For now.

  They’d been under sail for hours. And the day passed like most days at sea—uneventful, mundane and hot. The most excitement came when Fraco exchanged words and shoved the bo’sun over the proper way to tie a Carrick bend knot. Valeryn felt only partially guilty for giving Fraco the task of helping with the rigging knowing how difficult it would be with only the full use of one hand. So Valeryn reassigned him to the galley, only to remove him after he threatened the cook with a cutting knife. He hadn't lasted long pushing a swab around the decks, either.

  Valeryn shielded his eyes from the sun and looked up the mast where the upstart now sat—on watch. All the bloody bastard needed was his eyes and a good grip. Shouldn’t be too taxing, and he was out of everyone’s way. Valeryn wasn’t worried about running into shoals or being surprised by enemy ships. He had a real seaman on watch, too.

  ’Twas just as well. Fraco wasn’t even watching the horizon. What the devil was he looking at?

  Valeryn followed his line of sight down to where Catalina sat on the bow. With her legs curled under her, she busily wrote in a journal. Fluttering strands of dark hair not contained in her braid rode the breeze. She folded the book on her lap, leaned back on her palms, and tilted her face to the sun, a content smile on her rosy lips. The relaxed position thrust her bosom outward. Creamy mounds seemed to absorb the sunlight. How warm would her smooth sun-baked flesh feel to his kisses?

  Blast! He shouldn't be entertaining such ideas.

  He gazed back to Fraco. Neither should he. The man’s tongue practically lolled out of his mouth. He was salivating over his own cousin. Best keep an eye lifted on him around the lass.

  Where was that other woman? The maid?

  Nalda sat on a barrel at the base of the mast on the main deck. Arms crossed at her chest, she watched over Catalina like a hawk. Like a sentinel. Like a sentinel hawk ready to rip to shreds with her talons anyone who came near her ward. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but Valeryn had a feeling not by much.

  Henri sidled up. “Think ya, we’ll have trouble with the crew?”

  “Too early to say yet,” Valeryn said. “They appear to be a hard working lot. But so, too, are a pack of wolves. Feed them well with vittles, rum, and respect and we will be fine.”

  “Hope ya right.”

  “Have I ever been wrong?”

  “Do ya really want me ta answer that?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  The next few hours came and went as Amalia swallowed up mile by mile of the sea. Valeryn had been looking forward to dinner with his lovely new charge. Just as before, a woman held his life in her hands. He wished he hadn’t become wise enough to realize it. He rather enjoyed blissful ignorance. Nay. That wasn’t true. He was never ignorant when it came to Joelle. He simply ignored the fact he would never be what she needed—no matter how much he loved her, or how much she loved him.

  He’d lost her to another man. It took awhile, but he had finally accepted it, and her man. Joelle was happy. That was all Valeryn ever wanted for her.

  Now another chit had him in a yoke. True, ’twasn’t in the same manner as Joelle. But Catalina Montoya had the power to negate this commission on a fickle whim. Would she? Did she even know she held the cards? He wasn’t sure. The lass was smart enough, without a doubt. He had planned to use dinner to learn more about her. But the meal had fallen short of what he expected.

  Henri groused about how he couldn’t make a decent meal out of the rawboned fowl and small potatoes. He complained he needed his box of spices he left on Rissa for the scrap to be edible. While the food did not have the piquancy Valeryn was used to, he’d had far, far worse and much less. He could handle the bland food, chase it with a good rum. But the company, well, he might as well have dined alone.

  Nalda refused a plate, choosing to eat later in her cabin. Fraco made comments about what wonderful dishes his father’s cook could conjure. The actions of those two sent Henri into a tiff. Valeryn had to tell him to put a stopper in it or take his leave. The pygmy chose to leave, slamming the door on his way out. All the while, Catalina quietly ate. Her utensils hardly made noise as she cut her meat and scraped the metal plate.

  Oh, sure. Valeryn enjoyed the view, delighting in her lips closing over her food and sliding the fork out clean. Watched her delicate throat as she swallowed. Gazed at her bountiful chest level with the table as if it were its own dish. He’d love to sample her fare.

  Nalda’s beady eyes steadily stared at him, as if willing him to burst into flames. It crossed his mind more than once whether she was capable of it. ’Twould be well and good if the old bird found herself in a dinghy trailing the ship.

  Catalina had spoken little more than beyond what manners dictated. That wouldn't do. Dinner was nearly done.

  “You wanted this dinner, Miss Montoya, to get better acquainted. Yet you have been mute. I find this an insult to my hospitality within my quarters.”

  “Oh no, Capitán Barone. I hadn’t meant disrespect by my silence.” She shook her head, tresses bounding around her shoulders. “I have merely deemed the timing not right to talk of business.”

  “Business. An interesting choice of words.” He relaxed back into his chair. “The time is right,” he declared. “Why is this voyage important?”

  “’Tis not,” Fraco said. “My father was tired of her incessant bedeviling about drawing pictures of flowers and titties.”

  “They are not titties,” Catalina snipped. “Masked boobies, seabirds.”

  Fraco shrugged. “He wanted to get rid of her for awhile.”

  “Is that why you are here?” Valeryn said.

  Disgusted, Fraco crumpled his napkin and threw it upon the table.

  “I am a naturalist,” Catalina interjected. “I catalogue the physical properties of plants and animals, record habits, behaviors, migration patterns, reproduction, how they interact with other species and impact humans, including medicinal benefits. ’Tis much more than drawing pictures.”

  Naturalists. A fanatical group of stuffy scholars debating pigeon mating calls and leaf patterns on weeds. Why would she be interested in that nonsense?

  “To what purpose?” Valeryn asked.

  “I hope to write an article for the Journal of Physical Science and be accepted into the Royal Society.”

  Valeryn scoffed. He once met a man who was a member of the Royal Society. Wretched fellow. “You want to join a men’s club? Smoke cigars and confute theology?”

  A dark scowl eclipsed her face. “I am as intelligent as they.”

  “And you are a woman.”

  “I keep telling her to learn her place,” Fraco carped in agreement. “Subservient daughter, wife, mother. Do as she is told, not as she pleases.”

  “Cállate, Fraco.”

  If Catalina was to jump over the table and stab Fraco in the throat with her fork, Valeryn would not so much as move a muscle to stop her. Hell’s fury, did the arse r
eally believe that nonsense? Women were not just vessels for lust, not just servants of a man’s institution, not just bearers of legacies. They were much more. Women were the balance of men. Love to hate. Peace to war. Hope to despair. They were martyrs in this corrupt world. Mothers, nurturers, wives, yes. Cage-less, shackle-free of the deference, shown respect, and a lady could be a man’s savior. They could breathe life with passion and desire, fire and ice.

  But damn if they also didn’t bring men to their knees, make them fools. Whole kingdoms have fallen from the blindness of cock-driven, mindless saps. Valeryn understood. He’d fallen, too. The sacrifice was worth it. Even if for a moment in his miserable life. There was no other feeling like love and being loved.

  That was in Valeryn’s world. In the confines of high caste, women were lesser beings. ’Twas the way it was. To go against the grain could be detrimental to a woman—cast out as rubbish, ruined, impoverished, a leper. For some reason, he didn’t want to see that happen to Catalina just because she wanted a guild of men to like her scribbles. He couldn’t imagine the petite brunette surviving in the gentleman’s club.

  Fraco ignored his cousin and took a leisurely sip from his wine—wine he brought aboard and shared with no one. “They will never accept you.”

  Valeryn hated to admit it, but Fraco was right, again. “A young woman in a gentleman’s society? Not likely, love.”

  “I will be respected, love.” Her scowl held a sizable amount of resolve. “And I will do anything it takes to get in and prove my place in the enlightenment movement.”

  “Including scandalizing your family in Barcelona,” Fraco said, with a snip to his tone and a tilt to his smirk.

  “How dare you,” hissed Catalina.

  “Banished to Cuba,” Fraco taunted.

  Splotches of red appeared on her chest, rising up her throat and reaching angry tear-filled eyes. What ever had she done?

  “I will not suffer your vitriol,” she said. “I will not!”

  “An embarrassment to the Montoya name.”

  She slammed her palm onto the table, her nostrils flaring, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You bast—”

  “Enough!” Valeryn demanded. Though he’d like nothing more than to hear the details of her disgrace, he didn’t like to see her so upset. “However it is that brought you here is insignificant. You will have your chance to gather whatever it is you are after at Los Roques.”

  Catalina relaxed her rigid defenses. “Gracias, Capitán Barone.”

  “Your futile conquest is no concern of mine, so long as we return to Matanzas in eight weeks, sooner if luck be with me.”

  She sucked in an intake of air, clearly offended. Why should she be? She had her purpose for this trip, he had his. He lifted his mug in answer to her outrage and took a long pull. He’d need to pop open another flagon if this dinner lasted much longer.

  The lass crossed her arms. “Why is it you agreed to be capitán of this journey?”

  Looked like he was going to need the extra liquor, after all. Gone was her impulsive ire. She was back to business. He couldn’t deny that her spunk appealed to him.

  Fraco chortled.

  Catalina cutty-eyed her cousin. Her right brow arched and she looked back to Valeryn. “Well?”

  “’Twas an agreement I made with your uncle on terms I could not refuse.”

  “What did he promise you?”

  “The return of my ship.”

  Catalina’s forehead crinkled. “Is that all?”

  Fraco laughed outright. Valeryn pinned the corker with an icy glare. It did nothing to deflect Fraco’s mouth.

  “His ship and his life,” Fraco smirked. “The pirata and his crew were to hang.”

  “Mind yourself, boy,” Valeryn warned. “I swore to the alcalde to keep his niece safe. I promised no such thing of his son.”

  Catalina’s mouth fell open. “He gave me over to a pirate he intended to execute?”

  “The very same who caused the riot.” Fraco, pleased with himself for enlightening the room, sipped more wine.

  “A fabrication. I did not start a riot.”

  “’Twas not what Diego said after he busted up that pretty face of yours.”

  Valeryn tilted his head with this new information. “Friends with Diego, are we Fraco?”

  Fraco snorted. “Scarcely that. Call it a clash of personalities.”

  More like egos would be closer to the truth.

  “Diego Machado?” Catalina’s brow arched as she said the name.

  “Sí, your Diego.”

  Valeryn started to really dislike Fraco’s smug grins. And just how did Catalina know the wretch?

  “He is not mine,” she denied.

  “Diego thinks differently. The whole of Matanzas thinks differently. If you want to escape another scandal—”

  “Just what are you saying?” Red splotches returned, tinting her olive complexion.

  “You know exactly what I am saying, prima. You couldn’t keep your legs shut—”

  “Belay!” Valeryn had heard enough. “There will be no more muckraking at my table.”

  “This isn’t your table,” Fraco challenged. “You are nothing more than a renegado on borrowed time. A servant to Alcalde Montoya. My father understands your bond with your kind. You will not see your brothers fall.” He gestured with his finger between himself and Catalina. “We hold your fate. We control you.”

  Realization of that truth dawned on Catalina as she looked to her lap, grappling with her new perception of the voyage. Nalda, that old crow, had been staring at him for the past half-glass. Only now did it bother him. They judged him a harmless varlet, hands tied, impotent, a titular captain.

  Bloody hell, these people did not know who he was, what he was capable of doing.

  Valeryn rose from his seat, reining in all his will to not break the prick’s neck. “Do you want to know why I am feared across the Caribbean?”

  “Feared? I do not fear you,” Fraco said. “You were willingly led by your nose by a woman who had more cojones than you.”

  A growl rumbled from deep within his chest. “I have sailed with Ned Low and Charles Vane.”

  Catalina blanched. Worry stole her calm demeanor. Nalda also traded her stoicism for alarm. Good. They had plenty to be worried about. Valeryn had been disciplined by the most barbaric, sadistic pirates to ever sail the seas.

  “I am well-schooled in vicious, torturous deaths.” He bared his teeth, an old habit when on the edge of unleashing his fury. “You will be fooling yourself if you entertain a mere inkling that I will let a fanciful poppet and a princock take me down.”

  Fraco opened his mouth to speak.

  Valeryn pulled out his dagger from his waistband, spinning it his hand before pointing it at the wastrel. “This is your one fair warning.”

  He strolled to the door and yanked it open. As he expected, Henri fell across the threshold onto the floor. “See the ladies to their cabin,” he said to the eavesdropping old man. “Take the maid’s plate.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  “All of you, get out of my quarters. Now.”

  One by one they filed out. Catalina was the last to leave. She paused beside him, close enough to inhale her fragrance—floral, spicy, like the white and yellow petals of the frangipani flowers. Slowly, excruciatingly so, she lifted her inquisitive gaze to meet his. Her beauty could turn a saint into a sinner. Luckily, he already had a place reserved for him in hell. Her plump lips parted to say something. Whatever ’twas, a second thought had snapped her mouth shut and lit a fire in her sable eyes. Valeryn rather liked that tempestuous look. He couldn’t help but wonder if she were a hell cat in the bedchamber. Couldn’t help his craving to stoke that fire. He dropped his gaze to the deep chasm between her breasts. How he desired to get lost in there. Damn, damn, damn.

  “Take your leave, Miss Montoya.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Seven days had passed. And for seven days Amalia skirted the chain of storms
to the east. They wouldn’t be able to miss them for long. The fingers of squall winds lashed out at times, licking them with showers. Sooner or later, they’d get caught in the tempest.

  Valeryn supposed that was also true about his passengers. He’d gone out of his way to avoid them. For their own good. Or his. Every time he saw Fraco, he wanted to plug the clod in his mug with his fist. And every time he saw Catalina, he had other thoughts of plugging. While he indulged the idea of laying Fraco out, he could not entertain lewd whims about the lass. He was too given to acting upon those whims, and that would not do.

  The watchman high above rattled off an alarming string of words. Valeryn put down the whetstone he was using to sharpen his gully knife and peered up. The watchman pointed to the northeastern horizon.

  “Benito,” Valeryn called, climbing the quarterdeck. “What’s he see?” The helmsman handed him a spyglass as he strode past to the portside.

  “A ship. Coming in fast, Capt’n. An Andrew.”

  Damn it. The Royal Navy. Just what he needed. He must have really crossed someone to be handed such a rotten hand.

  Valeryn scanned the fuzzy horizon until he found the vessel. He sighted in the scope until the British ship focused into view. His stomach churned and he bit back a curse. The Amalia was not equipped for defending against a war ship. Who would be commanding her? Captain Watson? Captain Trent? If they recognized Valeryn, this journey may well end as quickly as it began.

  He glanced over to the very reason he, they, were there. She scrambled to her feet. Though no fear or surprise showed in her expression, her journal clutched to her chest gave her away.

  Her gaze shifted from the open ocean to him. As if she realized her vulnerability, she released her tight hold and dropped her arms to her side. A noble demonstration, but the lass had no idea how bent over a gun they were.

  A chest of arms was brought out to the middle of the main deck. Men instinctively snapped up the weapons.