Catalina glanced over to Valeryn. He looked at the ledger but didn’t seem to see what she spoke of. His gaze darted around the pages, not focusing on any one item.
“How many rounds of shot did you say?”
“Four hundred eighty. Is that sufficient? Do you expect more trouble from the Royal Navy?”
“And the grapeshot for the swivels?”
She looked back down to the book. Her English spelling was immaculate. Simeon made sure of that. She had to be if she ever planned to be published in any Royal Society publication. Her handwriting was quite legible, strong strokes, free of blots. Could he not see for himself? And then it dawned on her.
“You cannot read?”
He bristled. His jaw firmly clamped, the muscles twitching with the way he sawed his teeth together.
“Never you mind.” He plucked the book from her and snapped it closed.
“I will teach you!” Her desperation to stay frothed over.
He gripped her elbow tighter than necessary and led her to the door. “You will return to your cabin to stay until Henri fetches you for galley duty.”
Short of digging her heels into the floorboards, Catalina begged him to let her stay, to at the very least give him one lesson on reading. But he had a deaf ear the entire way back to her cabin. He had spoken not a word, even as he deposited her at her door and waited for her to slip inside.
Her heart ached. How could she have been such a fool? How could she have uttered the absolutely wrong words at the most inappropriate time?
She crawled back into bed, causing Nalda to snuffle and roll over. Instead of plotting a way to get him to open himself up to her, she cried herself to sleep.
Catalina swiped at the stream of sweat pouring from her brow with the back of her hand. The air in the galley was syrupy with heat from the cooking fire, and the aroma of boiled slop and body odor. Stacks of plates and mugs beside her grew after each shift. Exhausted from standing in front of a basin for hours, she plunged another plate into the water and scrubbed. She was nearly done with the task, except for the stacks of plates and mugs which would reappear as the last shift of men finished eating. The crewmen sat along two long rows with the plates. They had been in surprisingly good spirits, complaining of the food, though seemingly without malice, passing ribald stories between them, and chattering on about the fighting and looting of the day before. The atmosphere of Amalia had notably changed since that first day they left Cuba. The Spaniards no longer cutty-eyed Valeryn with suspicion or animosity. She could only imagine ’twas that they respected him now. He proved that if they gave him their trust and hard work, he’d reward them grandly. Yet, he also showed he’d not allow insubordination. He was hard, but fair.
If only he’d see the injustice of what he was doing to her.
“Quit yer lollygaggin’, lassie.” Henri plopped down a pot beside the basin. “You’d be done in half the time if'n yer head weren’t in the clouds.”
“Mis disculpas, Henri,” she said. “I am plagued by distraction.”
Henri perked up and shuffled off, not wanting to be roped into the garrulous woes of a woman. He stirred whatever gruel he had in the caldron within an inch of its life.
Ah, but he would not get away that easily. Perhaps he could shed some light on Valeryn. If she could get Henri to talk about him, Catalina could root out any viable nugget to help her understand him better. Knowledge was power, after all. And she intended to use whatever she could discover about Valeryn to her advantage. That was how badly she wanted to call him her own. Of course, that nagging voice in the back of her busy mind asked her what she expected to happen once the journey was complete. What did she gain by trifling with a pirate? She couldn’t imagine…wouldn’t imagine. Truth be known, she couldn’t see past her nose to concern herself with the future. ’Twas one of her most annoying faults.
“Henri?”
He let out an audible groan.
She ignored it and joined him at the cooking fire. “I did not mean to cause trouble for Valer—, um, Capitán Barone,” she said.
Henri paused from mixing upon hearing Valeryn’s given name, but just as quickly continued to stir his pot. “Ya did more than cause him trouble, lass. If he doesn’t git it all straightened out soon, the whole of the brethren might suffer. Cow Island was a safe place fer us to shelter down. Won’t be safe fer any one of us to return now.”
“And he won’t be able to right my wrong when under a demand to get me back to Matanzas in time.” She delivered a heavy sigh. People’s lives were at stake and all because of her. Why had she not let herself believe that before they disembarked? Because you were too consumed by the fire in your belly for this journey.
“We can go back, forget Los Roques.” It pained her to say it. To push aside the very thing she wanted most to save a man she decidedly wanted more. To save many men. Her gut clenched and she felt she might vomit. The heat and sweat didn’t help. “Capitán Barone will make it right, sí?”
Henri turned to face her. His countenance changed from being hopeful back into his perpetual scowl. “That ain’t our mission,” he said. “We go to Los Roques so ya can draw what’s there.”
He was right. ’Twould be fruitless to try to pass off plants and animals from anywhere else. She needed to journal the species unique to the archipelago if she were to have any chance of being accepted in the Journal of Physical Science.
“I know my being down here with you is not much by way of punishment,” she said. “Probably more of a torture for you, though this heat is insufferable. I will likely fail to rectify the plight altogether. Not given the scope of the damage I have done. But I will take on the responsibility, in whatever way the capitán deems appropriate. And I would gladly go before any audiencia to lay claim to my guilt.”
He stared hard at her, stroking his beard, the ribbons tangling into the wiry hair. With a nod, he simpered a crooked smile. “Can’t say I know many who would, let alone a poppet.” His smile, smoothing out his rough edges, caught her unaware. “He won’t let ya, anyway.”
“And I won’t let him hang for something he’d didn’t do. It’s unjust.”
“We’re pirates, girlie. Unjust is never far off where we’re concerned. We spit on the ground and git fitted for the noose.”
“Sí, sí. But as I understand it, your group saved Havana from tyranny. Tio would not be so swift to pass judgment on a friend to Cuba.”
“’Tis more than that. For e’ery good we do, there’s an unjust someone wants to make us pay for. One pullet can’t change that.” He hung the spoon on a hook and picked up a poker to stoke the fire. “Do what he asks of ya and think no more of it. Capt’n will take care of it.”
Maybe it was the prickling heat, or maybe the rivulets trickling down her spine. Could have been the clanging of another plate being tossed by her wash basin, but her mistakes, her hindrances, all the unjust reasoning in the world suddenly irritated her. Like her sticky clothes, she wanted to shed all annoyances. Alas, she could not. Somehow, that didn’t stop her from trying to lighten the load. “I fight for what I want, Henri.”
Henri chuckled, pushing coals around in the fire. “A fine virtue, if ya ask me.”
“Not unlike pirates.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, the old man slowly turned to regard her. “Suppose not.”
“I intend to make him mine, you know.”
The poker clanked to the floor. It took a full second before Henri cursed and snatched up the metal rod. “What ya blabberin’ on about?”
“I want him. But he keeps pushing me away.”
Henri fumbled around his pockets until he found his flagon. Popping off the top, he took a quick swig, looked at Catalina, and took another, deeper pull. “Why does this keep happenin’ to me?” he mumbled.
“Why does what keep happening?”
He waved her off. “Why the devil are you tellin’ me this?”
“Because I need to understand why.”
�
�Ya mean b’sides the obvious?” He held his stubby arms out in a shrug.
“I am aware of the stipulation my uncle placed on my return. I admit, that is a very good reason, and most persuasive. But when he kisses me, I can feel his—
Henri clamped his hands over his ears. “Tut! Don’t say more!”
She tugged an arm free. “Henri, please.”
He slumped, defeated. The heat must have gotten to him, too. Or maybe it was he knew she wouldn’t let him get away from answering her questions. “Valeryn ain’t what ya want, lassie.”
“He is.”
“Nay, he’s a dangerous man who’s done very bad things.”
“But he has done very good things, too.”
“He’s not a man for a refined lady.”
“No matter how a woman is raised, how cultivated and benevolent, how philanthropic, her social status is always one gossip away from toppling into ruins. I haven’t the constitution to appeal to such discriminations. Besides, I have already tarnished my reputation. It means naught to me.” That was a lie. She did care what others thought of her. But only in respect to her naturalist contributions. Being a woman, alone, kept her from that.
“What man would shun the advances of a willing woman?”
“A man who’s lost everything,” he muttered.
“Pray tell, Henri.” She was frenetic with anticipation, certain she’d bust if he didn’t relieve her curiosity soon. “I must know. I need to understand him.”
“Criminy.”
“You must help me.” She regretted the pathetic sound of desperation. But there it was. Desperation. How did she let a man get her to that point again? Still… “I won’t leave you alone until you do.”
Henri groaned and took another lengthy pull from his flask. “His woman, his ship, the respect from his crew, and, ’bove all, his way.”
Her sails slackened. To a pirate, that was everything. What had she expected him to say? What she already knew? She took a deep breath. “How?”
“By being blind and reckless. The boy could rule the world if'n it weren’t for his damnable suicidal impulses. He got somethin’ dark in ’im. He don’t talk ’bout it. Plagues, ’im, whatever it is. Enough ta make ’im rash.”
He stuffed his flask back into his pocket. “Be ye warned, lass, he’s a destructive jack. Damn fine pirate…and friend. But he’s got demons. He’s got not a damned thing left to lose. Best ya stay clear.” He retrieved the spoon from the hook and gave her his back to stir the mushy contents, indicating he was done with the conversation.
Catalina thanked Henri and returned to her wash basin. He’d given her much to think about. But instead of answers, she had more questions. What tormented him? Could she get him to open up to her? Did he intend to win back his crew’s respect? Who was this other woman, and what happened to her? It all mattered if she were to find a way to win him over.
She was an intelligent woman, aware her motives could be nothing more than infatuation, compounded by his resistance. They’d been playing the age-old game of flirtations. She was certain he enjoyed the trifling as much as she. But his hot/cold behavior was wicked, and what was the point if not to allow matters of the heart and body free?
The way her body came to life under his hot touch, the loss of her mental capacities when he kissed her, ’twas unsettling, fascinating, magical. Madness! Dios, he treated her passion for nature with respect. Why, he was the first man she’d met interested in her. Not just her assets—though he’d given her assets a fair amount of attention, too.
’Twas madness! Experience should prescribe she run from a man who plucked upon her whims so easily. And yet she had no desire to run. To become one with Valeryn, to lay with him, to soothe his demons and have him need her the way she imagined, that was her desire.
She had never been fashioned to a lifetime of genteel servitude, no matter how hard she tried to please mama. The more she dug her hands into the cold water swimming with bits of leftover cabbage and chunks of gristle, the more certain she was of a new truth mushrooming inside her. Valeryn was the man meant for her. She’d go the way of the pirata and take what she wanted without regard to the Montoya name. And so help her, she’d have him and her work by the end of this voyage.
CHAPTER 12
The horizon was blurred and concave around the edges of the spyglass image, but there was no mistaking what Valeryn saw. The topsails of a ship far reaching upon the ocean vista were just visible. The same topsails that had been tracking the Amalia for several hours. He was almost certain the ship bore a Spanish flag. Something seemed familiar about her, too, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.
Three days now the vessel had been following them. Four days since they left Cow Island. He hardly found that to be a coincidence. Yet there hadn’t been a Spanish bucket anchored at the French island. Nor would there have been if Hébert was in bed with someone in the Royal Navy. Alcade Montoya? Nay. Why would the alcade send an additional ship on this errand meant to pacify his niece? He didn’t have the resources to wet-nurse Valeryn.
The agitation of being followed burrowed beneath his skin, festering.
“What do you make of it?” Big John checked the mobility of the swivel gun a few feet away, determining it in clean, working order.
“There’d be no reason to follow our course. There are more direct routes to Venezuelan ports,” Valeryn said. “She deliberately hangs back. Even with our speed, I’ve no doubt she could catch up to us. She could tack and be on us sooner than we’d like.”
“If she means to attack us, why hasn’t she?” Big John said.
“No way to know.” He peered through the spy glass once more, as if staring long enough would yield the answer. “Just make sure the guns are ready and pray we don’t need them.”
“They’re ready, Capt’n.” He patted the gun. “Long as we don’t engage in a warship, that is.”
“We won’t go courting trouble,” Valeryn said. “Not this time.”
Big John crowed. “Don’t need to court it to be wed to it. Seems we’re always neck deep in it.”
The gunner walked off to check the rest of the artillery, leaving Valeryn to ponder those troubles. Though they were no longer without some means of protection, they were vulnerable—not properly armed in a way that ensured a victory with any such enemy. Every encounter was different— the circumstance, weather, wind speed, roughness of the water, size of the enemy’s vessel, amount of artillery... No use in wasting logic until the occasion presented itself.
Other troubles crowded his mind. Some consequential, some as annoying as a mosquito named Fraco. But none more than Catalina. The lass was anchored in every thought. He simply could not be left alone with himself without her forcing her way in, with all the majestic determination of a raptor and the graceful vulnerability of a doe.
Vulnerability. For such an intelligent creature, he found that part of her odd and captivating. She was strong, driven, complex, just like Joelle. Unlike his old lover, she wasn't a part of his world and needed a degree of protection. No matter how savvy she was, the dangers abreast the ocean, among the sailors and pirates in ports were foreign to her. Still, she faced it headlong, a means to an end. Her end. An admirable trait. A pirate's trait.
He thought back to their dinner nights ago. How endearing it was, her trying to be more like a pirate. He thought it all a game. The same romp they played with her being queen and he her pawn. He enjoyed the age-old sport. More than he should, because when he played, he intended to win. But for this match he must concede. For the men, for the Rissa. He hated to lose, especially when Catalina was the prize.
Valeryn snapped shut the spyglass and inwardly groaned. She did something to him. She had him pouring out part of him, only one part, that he never talked about. Why he wanted her to know him, he couldn't be sure. Perhaps ’twas how she spoke of her mother. Or how she held back, keeping her secret close to her chest. He smiled with the image of that chest and how wonderful those tits felt beneat
h his palms, how taut and warm in his mouth. He supposed if he talked of himself, she’d tell more of herself.
Then there was her surprised and indignant look upon her lovely face when Louis set about to remove her from his tavern. Valeryn had a devil of a time suppressing his laughter. She was a breath of fresh air in his dismal being.
But damn all, she tempted him beyond any conceivable control. Coming to his cabin and baiting him with her seduction. Not once, but twice. In the same evening. In her night dress. Blazes! The way the thin material hung from her delicious curves had him salivating like a drunkard in need of a nip. And her taste!
Even after she angered him with her ridiculous promises of saving him from the gallows and further humiliating him when she realized he couldn’t read, it took the power of the gods to keep his cock at bay, to not ravish her. The pressure had mounted so, he had to make her leave before his lust drove him into irreparable damage for them both. Then he had palmed matters into his own hands...literally.
A strange, almost identifiable feeling resembling emotions he didn't deserve and in no way welcomed came over him. He pushed it down into the darkest chasm of his mind.
Valeryn was no coward by any faculty of imagination. And it would be ludicrous to endeavor keeping his distance from Catalina when she was the reason for this folly. Yet he wondered how he would manage the rest of the trip with as little contact with her as possible.
He'd done a fine job thus far. Or rather, she did. Henri said she worked hard in the galley. That kept her busy for much of the day. Her uncle would have fits over Valeryn putting Catalina to work. But he had no choice in the matter. She had to be held accountable for her actions, even those that were unintentional.
That first evening, after her duties, she'd come topside to watch, and presumably draw, the sunset. He hadn't seen her since. Mayhap she avoided him. Was she ashamed for her brazen attempts to seduce him? She needn’t be. Under any other circumstance, he'd make good on her pursuits. Damn good.
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