Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  And that mosquito, Fraco? He wasn’t without his arrogant opinions, but there had been a change in him. He was...keen on becoming a part of the crew—taking an interest in sailing, willingly lending a hand, as it were, in menial duties, and asking Benito questions about the guns and how to use and clean them. He went so far as to help the carpenters fasten a gun to the carriage they constructed from the timber they acquired on Cow Island. Valeryn told his men to keep an eye lifted on the fella, to make sure he wasn’t planning to become an even bigger pain in the arse than he already was.

  It didn’t escape Valeryn’s notice that most of the Spanish men had undergone a change, too. ’Twas as Valeryn hoped. He pushed unrelenting upon their sufferance, then rewarded them well. He doubted any other captain they sailed under had done the same. Merchants and navies did not purchase strumpets for their crews. But ’twas more than that. Excitement of the plunder had been contagious, as it always was for many an adventurer. Valeryn had taken a chance, though one he felt unavoidable, and it seemed to pay off. The men nodded in respect as he passed by, no longer eyeing him with suspicion or disgust, and they worked harder, often laughing or singing. ’Twas almost as if they were his loyal crew, following him to the ends of the horizon on a half-arsed whim. Almost. His real crew awaited in Matanzas. And if he succeeded in saving them from his destructive blunder, they still may not accept him back as their captain. What the hell would he do then? Being a pirate was his life. He’d live and die as a pirate. Would he be able to assemble another crew? But did he really want to be a captain?

  Valeryn slid open the bring ’em near and sighted in on his latest blight. Still hanging back. Why in Neptune's name did that bloody ship follow them? He growled, closed the spyglass and headed for his cabin to look over the maps. To outflank their pursuer, he had to find the best place amid the islands and cays to drop anchor. And just to be sure, afford themselves a favorable position for defense.

  “It's all so beautiful.”

  Catalina beamed from under her pale yellow parasol, turning her head this way and that to take in the whole of the view. To see the beauty of the archipelago for the first time through her eyes bemused Valeryn. Her gaze shined with the wonderment they beheld—the water in varying shades of blue and green, the stretches of sands, whiter and softer than snow, the abundance of birds everywhere and sea life flitting to and fro beneath the boat he rowed.

  “Look! You can see all the way to the bottom. How deep would you say it is here?”

  “Twenty-five feet, or so, where we are anchored.” He glanced past her at Amalia quietly sitting atop the sea. With Cocklyn, he determined the best place for them to drop anchor was the southernmost tip of the eastern islands. The location was carefully chosen for the ease of slipping out to sea should they need an escape. There was also a narrow passageway between the island and the barrier of coral, allowing access into the smaller islands and reefs not accessible by ship. He angled the rowboat toward a patch of beach between the tangled branches of mangroves lining the shore. “I'd say ’tis about eight feet here. But another few feet and we'll be in knee-deep water.”

  “I thought Cuba was magnificent, but this place is remarkable. And I have yet to see its interior. What awaits there, do you suppose? I do hope to see turtles. If my reckoning is correct, they may nest here. Meaning migration. How splendid to find that they do. And the birds. Just look at them. Everywhere, boobies, gulls, pelicans. Goodness, I'm glad I brought enough pencils. My journal will be full. Oh my, I'm rambling.”

  “Nay, lass. You are a refreshing antidote to these routine days at sea.” He enjoyed listening to her excitement bubble up. Her laughter, the crinkles at her eyes as she smiled, ’twas endearing. And he felt somewhat responsible, which felt...good. “And I rather like watching your lips move.”

  Her gaze landed upon him, and her smile changed softer, warmer. Damn if that warmth didn't find its way to his groin.

  “A bold statement which could be misconstrued, sir.”

  “I doubt you misunderstand, lass. I only meant to say you present a rivaling picture to the sights around us.”

  Even in the shadow of her parasol, he spied the slight tint to her cheeks. It could have been because she was blushing. More likely, however, the color was embarrassment from assuming his comment suggestive in nature. It was, of course. But he couldn't encourage her. His control was threadbare, and his desire to flip up her skirts and drive into her was too near the surface.

  The oars hit the bottom. Valeryn jumped out of the boat, his boots sinking into the fine sand, and pulled it up onto the beach. Catalina began to remove her shoes.

  “Nay. Leave your shoes on. The sand will be hot.”

  “I do not wish to lose another slipper,” she said.

  She squealed as he scooped her out of the jolly and set her on the beach. He waded back to the boat and retrieved her journal and pouch with writing implements.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her smile was back to the brightness of the sun. Soon, she was off toward the mangroves. She plucked a long pod from a root arching out of the water. “Did you know that these pods germinate and grow before the seed drops from the tree. It has a bud that spears itself into the muck, but if the pod drops and the water too deep, it can float for a very long time, maybe years, before it finds itself in shallow water again and takes root.”

  “Interesting, indeed.” Not really. Not at all. But her enthusiasm in imparting the information had him captivated. He could listen to her rattle on about this plant or that lizard for hours. And he feared that was precisely what he was in for.

  “There are several species here. I must draw them all.”

  “Bear in mind our time is short, lass.”

  She waved him off. “Sí, sí. I can draw quickly. I should like very much to go exploring, now. To see what life there is on the island.”

  “I don't imagine there will be much to see on these spits.”

  “Por el contrario, Capitán. There is much to see.” She strode down to where the trees ended. “Look there.” She pointed to a patch of weeds growing from the sands and over a piece of driftwood. Yellow flowers dotted the green fleshy leaves. “Sea purslane. The leaves can be boiled and eaten, and used to treat ailments, such as stomach aches and dysentery. Oh, see there? A black lizard, and another over there.”

  “All right, Catalina, let us explore.”

  As they walked past a particularly large, thick cluster of mangrove forest, a musky odor became noticeably strong.

  “Dios!” Catalina's nose crinkled. “What is that awful smell?”

  “I do not know.” While unpleasant, the stench was nothing compared to the funk on board a ship that had been at sea for months. Mayhap that was why he hardly flinched at smell.

  The odor was carried away on the winds as they moved inland. For the next couple of hours, she babbled excitedly about the cactus, creeping vines, grasses, scribbling notes in her journal as they went. Every large, thick concentration of mangroves was accompanied by the strong odor. This but intrigued and vexed Catalina.

  By the time they had made it back to their boat, she had counted an impressive number of plant species on the small spit, and spied many birds, insects, spiders and lizards.

  She sat down on the white sands without the benefit of a blanket and began drawing. She prattled as she did so, about what, Valeryn did not know. He’d tried to follow along. Somewhat. The subject matter bored him to tears. Just as expected. But the sound of her babbles lulled him, tamed his tensions. He stretched out on the sand, pushing the cutlass at his hip alongside, and propped up on his elbow, content in watching her.

  “You must be hungry,” he said.

  “Hmm?” Her pencil scrawled feverishly. “Oh, no, not at the moment.” She flipped her journal around to show him her artwork. “What do you think? It’s the red mangrove.”

  She’d drawn the tree and roots, and an up-close image of a pod. Words he could not read were neatly written underneath. He took the jour
nal from her and traced his fingers over the lines of the picture. Astonishing detail and accuracy was in every stroke. “You are a master of your art,” he said.

  Pink pride crowned her cheeks. “Gracias, Capitán.”

  For several heartbeats, he stared into her exotic eyes, desperate to catch a glimpse of her soul. She broke the contact, and removed her shoes. Sinking her toes into the sand, she sighed. He nearly did too upon sight of her bare feet.

  As quick as he handed her journal back, she had flipped the page and began to draw again. “The black mangrove,” she pointed with her pencil to a patch of the trees not as far out in the water as the other trees, “withstand higher levels of salt. If you look at their leaves, you will see salt crystals forming there. And the white mangroves...”

  On and on she prattled about the trees. She had better not quiz him on her lecture. Valeryn had not listened, not while her moving lips captivated him. Or how the stirring of her pencil pulled his gaze to her ample breasts so near to her journal. Or when his stare wandered down her skirts to her naked ankle and delicate toes. He longed to rub his hands over the knob of bone, to feel her creamy skin, and kiss her toes one by one.

  Bloody hell, he must stop thinking of her that way. He redirected his eyes and his thoughts to the Amalia. The late afternoon cast a darker tint to the sea and bathed the ship in gold. Nothing looked amiss, which was good. That meant that there’d been no sign of another ship.

  “We should head back to the ship. ’Twill be dark soon.”

  “Please, not yet. There is still enough light for me to draw by.”

  “You must be starved,” he protested.

  “Just a little longer.”

  How could he deny her? She was finally partaking in a meaningful part of her dream. He would indulge her so long as there was no threat. Well...threat from the elements or enemies, anyhow. Too bad he was the one in any real danger should he act upon the carnal behaviors inherent in a pirate. The ones driving him mad.

  The blue shades of dusk had overtaken the golds of the setting sun. The gusty winds waned as did the noisy calls of the birds. Catalina closed her journal and put away her pencils, reluctantly conceding that ’twas time to return to Amalia. Valeryn put out his hand to help her to her feet. With her journal held snug to her breasts, lucky journal, and her shoes dangling from her fingers, she fell into step with him to the jolly.

  Suddenly, she stopped and tilted her head to the side, listening. He heard it, too. Chirping. Unlike that of the squawking of birds they’d heard throughout the day. The chirping grew louder, not in volume as much as ’twas a chorus.

  “Is that...” Catalina’s brow scrunched as she tried to locate the sounds.

  “It’s coming from the mangroves,” Valeryn said.

  Against the backdrop of the darkening blue sky, objects swirled up and flew out of the mangroves, the white mangrove Catalina had pointed out, to have been precise.

  “Bats!” squealed Catalina. “There are bats here! How delightful! The bats must have been what we smelled. Oh, how fascinating!”

  Valeryn had never met a woman jubilant over bats. The lass just kept surprising him.

  “I must write about this. Mayhap we could follow them and see where they feed.” She dropped her shoes and flipped open her journal.

  “Oh, no you don’t. It’s late, and I’m hungry.” He scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.

  “Valeryn!” She kicked with half-hearted effort. “Put me down.”

  He deposited her in the boat. She put her hand on the bench, intent on pushing off to stand. “Stay.” He pointed for her to sit. “I mean it, Catalina. Do not get up.” She lowered her bottom down, crossed her arms, and huffed. He returned to the beach to retrieve her shoes. After plopping her shoes inside, he pushed on the small boat, dislodging it from the beach, and into the water.

  “But, I wasn’t done here.”

  Was she...pouting? Mercy be, she was! She had found a new way to weaken his resolve. God, he wanted to kiss her wicked little mouth. Kiss her until her lips were swollen. Nay. He mustn’t. “Tomorrow, belladonna.”

  The next morning, Valeryn sent a longboat to the northeastern part of the archipelago to keep watch for unwelcome visitors. He couldn't shake the uneasiness of knowing there was a ship out there tracking them. If it weren't for his scouts at various points of the island chain, he would be on edge, anxious about an impending attack. As it were, he was content they were alone. More so that he was alone with Catalina.

  Valeryn escorted Catalina back to the island once the morning rays broke the horizon. By the time the sun blazed high in the sky, she had drawn, labeled, and catalogued a goodly number of plants, shrubs and trees. She spoke very little as she went about her work. That was fine by him. He was content to whittle away on a piece of driftwood with his gulley knife and watch. Her brow crunched under concentration. The pencil scratched upon her pages in confident sketches, strokes, and shadings. He grinned with her as she displayed each final product to him. She truly was gifted.

  Drawing the creatures proved a tad more difficult when birds took to the wind and lizards skittered away. But she hadn't let that discourage her. The way she bit down on the tip of her tongue as she feverishly worked gave her an adorable childlike innocence Valeryn had found hard to ignore. Criminy, she drew him in just as she drew her subjects, committing him to her intrigue like no other.

  He'd convinced her to take a break to nibble on the fish, slabs of cheese, and biscuits Henri had sent along for their midday meal. She had chattered on about her discoveries and Valeryn had become swept up into her excitement. He had even indulged her and belly-crawled alongside her on the ground for a better angle from which she could observe the nesting ground of the brown booby. ’Twas a feat since he carried her parasol, and he was fairly certain there was no need to drag themselves over the rock and sticks, getting sand in places he’d rather not. The birds were curious of them, as well. None had startled or taken flight. But they were a noisy bunch. Indeed, Valeryn gained an appreciation for the cumbersome bird, even conceded to how charming the chicks were in their fluffy white down.

  That evening, as promised, they observed the bats. Catalina had concluded the flittermice were fishermen bats. They watched the bats scoop across the shallow parts of a lagoon snatching up small fish and crustaceans.

  Valeryn began to have a new appreciation for naturalists. What Catalina studied in excruciating detail was quite...astonishing.

  She had done a lot on that second day. On day three, he rowed her out to other, smaller spits of land. They’d seen doves, flamingos, terns, warblers, spiders, and iguanas. Catalina catalogued them all and Valeryn continued to watch and whittle.

  “What is that?” She finished her notes on a mollusk she plucked from a tide pool and pointed her pencil to the piece of wood he had been working on.

  He handed her the knot of wood he carved into a turtle. “For you.”

  Under the shade of her parasol, she inspected his notches and design. “Es una tortuga.”

  By far did he possess the skill of an artist. And not too far in the distant past he had wished mightily he had. His cuts were rough and the turtle lacked minute features. ’Twas no wonder her mouth was agape.

  “’T-tis lovely.” Her eyes shimmered with, he couldn’t be certain, tears.

  “’Tis ghastly,” he dismissed.

  “No. I love it.” She held it to her chest. “Gracias, Valeryn.”

  An unidentifiable feeling warmed his chest. As he always did when he was uncomfortable, he reverted to diversionary tactics. “Come. Let us go back to the longboat and have our midday meal.”

  Catalina made no objection. Once finished with their repast, Catalina wanted to return to a large tide pool that overflowed with sea life. He followed behind her swift pace, one eye consistently scanning the sea and one eye on her swaying backside.

  At the pool, she removed her shoes, and, much to his delight, she knotted the hem of her skirts up to
her knees. Valeryn settled down on a rock, drinking in the glimpse of perfectly shaped calves, until she waded into the water. The girl did not tire in her enthusiasm. On and on she regaled him of the different fish swimming around her feet. She plucked out a variety of mollusks, clams, and a queen conch to document. He flinched when she thrust a crab toward his face. Her generous laughter carried on the steady breeze, the darling minx.

  “I’ll get you for that,” he teased.

  “My, my, but I hope you are not keeping tally of my ever-growing list of discipline.” The sinful slant of her mouth told the opposite to be true.

  Valeryn had contemplated time and again about absolving her from all misdeeds, especially as none were intentional. He had the power to do so, and she’d be safe, he’d be safe, from the carnal knowledge that he was positive he couldn’t halt himself from taking. He simply chuckled her coy comment away.

  On the way to the next pool, she stopped short and gasped. Before he could determine what brought about her reaction, she hurried off and dropped to her knees.

  “Mira!”

  He squatted beside her to get a closer look. Scoops and drag marks made a path in the soft sand to the sea. Catalina rose and followed the path to the source, a place in the sand near a cluster of shrubs. She flipped open her journal and scribbled notes. “I knew I’d find turtles nesting here. These tracks are fresh! How wonderful. Now if I can learn what type of turtle...”

  Valeryn saw turtles all the time. He found it difficult to become overly thrilled at spotting one, unless Henri cooked one up with his secret butter and herb sauce. ’Twas even better washing it down with black strap.

  As quick as she sat, she was on her feet again, rushing to the edge of the water. She fumbled with laces and her skirts swooshed to her feet.

  A full five heartbeats passed before Valeryn snapped out of his trance. “What in Davey Jones’ name are you doing?”

  “Since they entered the water here, and this part of the islands are situated much like a ring, turtles will be right out there. I must go in.”