Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

Catalina’s tongue grew thick. Did he indeed know her? Her father?

  “She is a passenger. Remove your hand.”

  “Come now, Captain Barone. Common Spaniard wastrels do not travel. They are cockroaches, worthless thieves, whores and offal.”

  “Surely you do not intend to offend the lady,” Captain Barone sneered.

  “You are not offended, are you, señorita? Hmm?”

  No. Yes. She couldn’t answer. Was afraid to.

  “You insult me and my countrymen,” Fraco condemned. “You are not superior.”

  “’Tis God who gave power to England. I am merely His servant through His favor to King George. ’Tis not my will that your kind are...” His gaze fell upon Fraco’s deformed hand. “...inferior.”

  Fraco withdrew his flintlock and pointed it at the British captain. “We shall see who is inferior!”

  In a flash, Captain Barone whipped out his own pistol and aimed it a hair from Fraco’s temple.

  Catalina’s world spun. She willed herself not to faint, to stay upright. This went from dangerous to deadly in the space of a blink.

  “Put the gun away, Montoya.” The captain’s arm was straight and steady, unlike Fraco’s shaky grip. “Now, boy, lest I put a ball in that clam brain of yours.” His lips hardly moved with the threat, but his eyes flared in untold fury.

  Captain Nicholls, whose serenity was frightening whilst facing the gun’s barrel, calmly waited, watching the bravado unfold.

  “He offended me, slandered Spain.”

  “And you have done likewise to your captain,” Captain Barone said. “Mayhap I seek justice against you. Aye. ’Twould be fitting.”

  Catalina reached for the captain, her fingertips scantly touching the coiled sinew of his arm. The muscle tightened further.

  “Lower. Your. Piece.” Captain Barone’s warning boomed low, as if thundering from the depths of hell.

  “Do as your captain says, Spaniard,” Captain Nicholls goaded.

  Fraco’s mouth twisted in disgust. He dropped his aim, but spat at the British commander.

  Catalina gasped.

  He snarled at Captain Barone and folded back in the crew.

  “Quite a display.” Captain Nicholls clasped his hands behind his back again. “’Tis as if you are accustomed to unruly, barbaric swabs.”

  “Are we done?” Captain Barone slid his weapon back under the purple sash at his hips. “Respectfully, we need to get back under sail.”

  “Yes.” Captain Nicholls strode to the ship’s center. “I believe we are done.” He scanned the vessel from aft to bow. “Shame she isn’t bigger.”

  Was he leaving without any more trouble? Could this really end with nothing but an exchange of trenchant words and barbed overtones?

  “But.” Captain Nicholls directed his piercing gaze back to Catalina. “I shan’t leave without something.”

  She instinctively stepped behind Captain Barone. Strange how she felt safer in the shadow of a pirate.

  “I’ve nothing to offer,” Captain Barone shifted to block her visual connection with the British skipper.

  “Seize their water.”

  The British filed past to carry out the directive.

  “Ya can’t take our water!” Henri Jeanfreau elbowed between two soldiers, threatening them with his cane.

  “Take their food, as well.”

  Henri thrust his cane harder. “None doin’!”

  “Belay, Henri.” Captain Barone’s even tone held pent irritation, like a brewing storm near bursting into a deluge. “’Tis a kindness that our stores are the only thing they relieve from us.”

  “A kindness?” Henri sputtered. “Ain’t no—”

  Big John picked Henri up and set him beside Valeryn. The little man struggled from Big John’s grasp. Captain Barone stilled him with a hand to his shoulder.

  “Ta leave us be is a kindness,” Henri groused.

  “To leave you alive is.” Captain Nicholls’s good humor faded.

  “We’re obliged.” Captain Barone dared Henri to speak again with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth.

  Soon Amalia was relieved of her stores. Barrels of food and water were rolled between ships using planks. Coops were removed and live animals were led off. The rest of the soldiers joined their captain on the British vessel. ’Twas all Catalina could do to not sob with relief.

  Grappling hooks were detached and swung off and ropes were cut. The ships lurched, creaking and scraping apart.

  “Farewell.” Captain Nicholls tipped his hat. “I do believe we will meet again, Captain Barone.”

  “’Twill be certain,” Captain Barone muttered.

  CHAPTER 6

  They’d been damn lucky. He’d been damn lucky, playing a dangerous cat and mouse game. Lucky Captain Nicholls appreciated the finesse of colloquy among men. And Nicholls knew Valeryn lied. Lies buried in truth. It was written across his priggish mug.

  What the devil had come over Valeryn? Why could he not resist toying with the British captain? He all but gestured Nicholls to sod off with a stiff middle finger, daring him to a fight. This after threatening his own crew with violence. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Nicholls was a smart bloke. Valeryn hadn’t heard of the captain. Must be new to this part of the Caribbean. He was going to be trouble for Valeryn.

  Trouble. This ship was full of it. And leading the pack was Fraco.

  “Montoya!”

  The wretch turned and Valeryn struck him across his face with the back of his hand, the force snapping Fraco’s head to the side. Valeryn snatched away Fraco’s pistol and shoved him to the deck. By thunder if his ribs didn’t protest the action, angering him more. “You worthless upstart. I ought to hock and hamstring your arse.”

  Fraco sat up. “You’re a coward. A drunk and a coward.”

  Fraco’s loose tongue colored Valeryn’s vision red. He pushed the fool back down with his boot, pressing the heel into Fraco’s chest. “Diego tell you that?”

  “You don’t frighten me.” The defiance in Fraco’s voice was remarkable. Stupid, but remarkable.

  “That’s about to change.”

  “Varmint ain’t too bright.” Henri leaned over his cane. “Are ya, lad?”

  Valeryn flicked his chin to Big John, who unsheathed his gully knife, tossing it hilt up. Valeryn caught it and spun it over his knuckles several times. “Let’s give him a lesson, eh? Shall I teach him about listening to scugs like Diego?” Valeryn squatted beside Fraco’s head. “I’ll start by slicing off your ear.”

  Fraco tried sitting up, but was met by Henri’s cane shoving him back.

  Valeryn grabbed Fraco’s face, squeezing hard and forcing it to the side. He planted his knee into the man’s cheek, freeing his hand to peel away the ear. “Be still,” he taunted. “Wouldn’t want to carve out your brains.”

  “Please no, Capitán Barone!” Catalina’s plea cut through Valeryn’s anger, bringing him back to why they were there in the first place. Oh, how he wanted to educate Fraco with a hard lesson in respect. If not to knock him down a peg.

  “Have patience,” she begged.

  Blast! He was long tired of having his authority tested. Why should he be patient?

  “Fraco is used to having his way,” she said. “He doesn’t usually answer to anyone but his father.”

  “And so I should ignore his disregard, his insolence? Nay.”

  “Give him another chance.” A delicate hand landed upon his shoulder. The warmth of her touch thawed the ice in his ire.

  As easily as he gave into his foolhardy tendencies, he gave into his attraction for Catalina. Shit. He passed the blade over Fraco’s mug, giving the fellow an opportunity to wipe the defiance from his expression. The lad was too senseless to understand the real danger.

  “He will not need another chance.”

  “But—”

  Valeryn stood quickly, causing the lass to stumble a step back. “Lock him in the bilge, John.”

  Valeryn faced Catalina.
“That is the most patience you can hope for. Don’t ask for more. There will be none.”

  Big John kicked at Fraco’s feet. “Bouse up.”

  As he was led away, Fraco smiled at Valeryn. What did he have to be happy about? Catalina rolled her eyes, adding to the curiosity of it all.

  The crew folded into their duties leaving him with the lass.

  “Thank you, Capitán,” she said.

  “Don’t thank me, lass. Another moment more whilst he had his weapon raised, I would have blown a hole into your cousin’s skull. And if we survived the British onslaught, you can be certain I’d have used you to save myself and my crew.”

  Catalina dropped her gaze to her hands and sighed. “I understand more than you’d give me credit for.” She impaled him with a grim look. “We are all pawns to someone else’s ambitions. As sure as the sun rises and sets, I would do the same to you.”

  “Would you? A scared mouse such as you?” What an interesting creature.

  “You don’t seem like a man given to underestimating others.”

  Catalina shed her earlier fear, recouping her tart attitude rather quickly in spite of nearly becoming British property. She was quick to stand her ground, he’d give her that. No matter. He could break her of her illusions of prevailing upon him like she did her uncle.

  “Then we have an understanding.”

  “Oh, I understand. The question is, who is the pawn and who is the queen?”

  “You mean king.”

  She smiled. “No, queen.”

  “I do love a good challenge.” He circled the lass. “Pray tell, Miss Montoya,” he whispered low into her ear. “What would the queen do with her pawn—should he be in her service?”

  “She would have him kneel before her.” She paused, turning her head slightly to him.

  Valeryn’s tongue danced behind his lips with the urge to run it along the curve of her ear. What would it be like to feel her shiver if he were to lap at her lobe? “And?”

  She nibbled her bottom lip, avoiding eye contact. “And drink from her fount.”

  Christ! The double entendre damn near caused his knees to buckle. “The pawn’s a thirsty man. He might drink her dry.”

  Her stare remained fixed straight ahead. “To protect her place, a queen must ensure my pawn is sated.”

  My pawn? Burn and sink it! ’Twas a slip of the tongue, and she was killing him. “Will I be sated?” He couldn’t stop himself. He could ravage her in a kiss if it weren’t for Nalda sulking nearby and the crew watching their every move.

  She turned her head in closer and peered up. Her lips parted, her breath shallow, the pupils of her eyes wide, eclipsing the color. “Will I?”

  Holy Mother of— “You tread a dangerous path.”

  “We both do.”

  “Then ’tis best we err on the side of caution.”

  Valeryn stepped away from her heat, to a safe distance. There was work to be done, work that would be made difficult with a stiff cock. “My lady,” he said by way of parting.

  He spun on his heel and gathered the men on the quarterdeck for further orders. He waited at the top of the ladder for Henri to make the climb. Below, Nalda wagged a bony finger at Catalina, scolding her with words he couldn’t hear and probably wouldn’t understand. The lass ignored her maid and strode for the hatch leading to the cabins. She paused at the door and looked up. She smiled at Valeryn and quickly ducked inside.

  Trouble. She was all trouble.

  “Aintcha got a hand?”

  “Sorry, Henri.” Valeryn grasped Henri’s wrist and helped him the rest of the way. “What are our coordinates?” he asked to no one in particular.

  “Due east of Cape Maysí,” Benito said.

  “’Bout three days out from Port-au-Prince,” Henri added.

  Valeryn looked out toward the horizon. The Arcadia mocked him with her full, white sails, hanging back to tag his route. “Nicholls expects us to seek provisions at the nearest port capable of stocking a merchant. Plot a course for Île-à-Vache.”

  “Cow Island? That’s a four day sail, if the weather holds,” Henri protested. “Four days without food and water. Doncha think that’s pushin’ your limits with this crew?”

  “You would have us in the Port-au-Prince Bay where we could be trapped?”

  “We could get in and out without nary a notice. Ya know that.”

  “This is not Rissa, Henri. This is a jollyboat.”

  “Ya gotta have faith.”

  “Will faith buy us food, livestock and water? Nay.”

  Henri scrunched up his wrinkled face as if catching a whiff of a rotten carcass. “Ya be right, Capt’n. But I ain’t gonna share me rum.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, mate.”

  “Prepare the men,” Valeryn instructed Benito. “We barter in Île-à-Vache.” Benito nodded and the men took their leave.

  “’Twill be a long four days,” Henri said.

  Valeryn grinned. “Have faith.”

  “Got me faith right here.” Henri reached in his vest pocket for his dented flask. Popping off the top, he said, “Ya courtin’ the devil, boy.”

  Henri didn’t believe in Valeryn. Didn’t trust Valeryn’s instincts. It rubbed Valeryn raw. He may never earn back the trust he pissed away, never prove his worth as a captain. So be it. Captain or not, Valeryn was a pirate through and through. Fight and plunder under the protection of his courage.

  “I won’t hear any more of it, Nalda.” Catalina scooted her bottom around in the desk chair and opened her journal. “If you are going to reprimand me, use your English words.”

  Nalda spewed out a protest in Spanish.

  “You will never be able to speak to Emilio if you do not practice and learn.”

  Nalda had promised her son she would learn English when he married an Englishwoman. Now that Tonio and Emma had a son, Nalda wanted more than ever to speak with her family. But the maid had difficulty with the language. Frustrated, she claimed she was too old to learn. She was like a petulant child. ’Twas the only time Nalda displayed vulnerability, the only time Catalina was not the charge.

  For the past ten minutes, Nalda scolded Catalina for acting like a harlot, flirting with the captain. If only Nalda knew how Captain Barone made her heart flitter. How she tingled in all the right places when he was near. How could she explain the way he looked at her as if she were the only person alive? Or how when he spoke to her, only her, the world melted away.

  Catalina could almost hear the steam coming from Nalda’s ears as she kept her back to the maid. She stayed focused on the drawing she’d been working on—porpoises she had spotted in a folding wake at the ship’s bow. Delighted by the playful swimming of the animals, she had recorded their antics and how long they swam alongside Amalia. But it had been hard to concentrate. She couldn’t stop thinking of Captain Barone. She still smelled his salty musk.

  It was illogical, of course. He was like a wild beast she wanted to observe. No. Not observe. Discover. Explore. Feel. Oh yes, feel. Feel his kisses, run her hands over his hard body. Did she dare imagine further? She did. She may even pursue the beast.

  “He is so handsome.” Oh! Catalina hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  “You burn fire.” Nalda emphatically wagged her finger.

  “You mean I play with fire.”

  “Sí.”

  “Yes,” Catalina corrected her.

  “He pirate. No trust. Stay way.”

  Catalina swiveled in her seat. Nalda’s grim mouth punctuated she would do what it took to keep Catalina at arm’s length and away from the captain. “I’ll be fine.”

  Nalda huffed. She pushed off the bed and opened the dresser. Removing folded clothes carefully, she retrieved an ivory-handle flintlock.

  The gun had belonged to Catalina’s father. She’d never forget the day he’d given it to her as a gift. The Barcelonan hillside was green with life, white flowers swayed in the gentle breeze sweeping in from the Mediterranean. It had already been a lo
ng day of lessons, sewing, and listening to the prattling of her mother’s circle. Catalina had begged Papá to teach her to shoot like him. They’d secretly practiced on the hillside for weeks. On this day, she’d earned her marksmanship. His smile crinkled his eyes when she’d opened the velvet-lined box.

  “No le digas tu madre,” Papá had said with a wink. “Será nuestro secreto.”

  She had no trouble keeping the secret from her mother. They both knew she would not allow her daughter to keep a vulgar weapon. ’Twas beneath her station. But the gun was Catalina’s most valued possession, surpassed only by Papá’s pride.

  Catalina sighed and closed her journal—her second most valued possession. “No.” She took the gun from her maid and replaced it in the dresser.

  “Keep you,” Nalda insisted.

  “I do not need to keep it with me.” She tucked the clothing on top. “The capitán will not harm me.”

  “Cannot sure he no touch you.”

  But she badly wanted him to. “I do not believe he would. Not without my consent.”

  “Catalina,” Nalda warned.

  On the edge of irritation, Catalina slammed the dresser drawer shut. “Do not worry. I will keep the Montoya name free from any more disgrace.” Only she couldn’t be entirely sure. Captain Barone fogged her senses. She was drawn to his dangerous allure. Sucked down into the eddy of desire with no will to fight. No will at all.

  “He was found topside, sittin’ on the capstan.”

  Cocklyn shoved Fraco Montoya into the chair across from Valeryn at the captain’s table.

  “Was he now?” Valeryn eyed the wretch. Fraco slouched back into the wooden chair and smirked.

  “And,” Cocklyn continued, “he was drinkin’ this.” He slammed a bottle of rum in the center of the table.

  “Why you mangy, stump-winged weevil,” Henri spat. He hopped from his seat and grabbed grubby fistfuls of Fraco’s collar. “That be our ration I locked up. It’s gotta last! I oughta cleave your heart out.”

  “Maybe later, Henri,” Valeryn said. And with the way he was feeling, he just might slip the old man a paring knife. “Move away.”

  Valeryn ground his teeth, trying to keep his anger in close. He despised blatant disregard for authority. His authority. Escaping lockup and stealing rations, under the pirate law, those deeds were punishable. But this wasn’t a pirate ship. No pirate articles were signed. That didn’t mean he still couldn’t punish Montoya.