Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “There. All done.” She shifted his leg from her lap and stood. “But I still need to remove the tiny fragments the spines left behind. I know what to do, but we need to get back to the ship first.” She extended her hand to help Valeryn stand, but he declined, pushing himself up. ’Twas as if he avoided touching her all together. The slight stung.

  “’Tis getting late,” he said. Gathering his clothes, he shrugged into his tunic and vest. He snatched up his belt, boots, and weapons, and led the way back to their longboat.

  Catalina scooped up her journal and shoved it into her bag and grabbed her parasol. She had trouble keeping up with him, and he seemed to deliberately put extra weight on his wounded foot.

  A few yards from the boat, he abruptly stopped, waiting until she had almost reached him. Without turning, he said, “I thank you, Catalina...for your...aid.” And then he started off again, not waiting for her reply.

  No words were exchanged as he rowed them to the Amalia. And before they reached the ladder hanging against the ship’s hull, she had a sudden realization he did not intend to let her finish nursing his injury.

  “Do not let my confession, or your pride, keep me from taking care of your foot. A few more moments of me today will stave off the possibility of infection.” She slung her bag over her neck and climbed up the rope ladder.

  Nalda impatiently waited, as she did every day, for Catalina’s return, perched in a chair she brought up from below deck propped next to the hatch door. Arms crossed, scowl permanently in place, her beady, suspicious eyes followed her until Catalina stopped before her. The old maid raked her from head to toe. “Wet. Why?”

  At least she was trying to use her English words. “I saw a turtle.” ’Twas the only explanation she’d give. Later, in the privacy of their cabin, Catalina would tell Nalda more. But she was not about to let her guardian give her disciplinary admonishments now in front of Valeryn and crew.

  Once the longboat had been secured, the captain boarded, carrying his boots. “Shall we go to your quarters now?” she said. ’Twas more of a statement than a question.

  He broke stride to pause a mere foot away. His gaze slid from her to Nalda and back again. With a wearisome sigh, he nodded.

  Success! Relief eased the square of her imperious shoulders. She followed after him with Nalda close on her heels.

  Valeryn dropped his boots with a thud beside his bed and swiped a bottle of rum off the desk. Sinking into his chair, he propped his foot upon the length of the table.

  Catalina explained to Nalda the captain’s wound and that she needed a bowl of water and a clean rag. She then found a fat candle on the shelf, retrieved a tinder box off the desk, lit the candle and set it aside to burn.

  Nalda placed the bowl of fresh water near Catalina’s work space and wrung out a rag. Catalina knelt to her knees, rolled up Valeryn’s trouser leg, and got to work. Gently, she washed off the dirt and sand from the bottom of his foot. She took careful measure not to press too hard around the wound. Not so much for hurting him as to not push spine fragments deeper into the pad. All the while, his gaze burned into the top of her head as he sipped from the flagon of rum.

  She took her time, wiping from his toes down to his heel, admiring how his foot was large, strong, manly.

  Nalda grunted, rousing Catalina from nearly petting the man. And pet him, she badly wanted. Damn Simeon for giving her a lewd mind. Damn Valeryn for being such a delicious, volatile concoction of danger and passion. Damn his smoldering gaze, his chiseled body, his tawny hair dried by the warmth of the sun. Damn his playful smile, his throaty laugh, his subtle encouragements. Damn him!

  He continued to stare at her, drinking her in as he did his liquor. She shook off her unstable desires, trading the rag for the candle.

  “I am going to pour the wax over the inflicted area,” she informed. “’Twill burn but briefly and cool quickly.” He said not a word, gave no indication that he cared what she did. Well, she’d see about that when hot liquid hit the tender most part of his sole. “Then I will peel the wax off. What is left of the barbs will be lifted away with the wax. Are you ready?”

  His lips twitched as if to form a grin. “Proceed,” he said with a nod.

  Oh so carefully, she tilted the candle. Wax spilled down his foot, but nary a muscle moved. She made sure to cover the entire area well, blew out the flame and handed the spent candle to Nalda. “I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable for you, Capitán.”

  “Having the shit beat out of you is uncomfortable,” he said.

  Nalda huffed at Valeryn’s unnecessary language.

  “Your point is well taken,” Catalina replied. ’Twas duly noted he had been agitated with her since she bared her secrets on the beach. Sí, she was a risk for him. Sí, she had asked a great deal from him with that risk. But wasn’t the lure of sweet passionate abandon worth it? Hadn’t men all throughout time taken chances? Why wouldn’t he with Catalina?

  She peeled the cooled wax slowly and effectively from his foot. Once done, she wiped his sole clean with the rag. “All done.” She rose off her knees, brushing her skirt. “Try to keep it clean.”

  He nodded once, clear he understood and appreciated her help.

  The silence weighed heavy and awkward. Nalda waited expectantly. Valeryn waited expectantly. What was there left to say or do? Nothing. She had no reason to stay, no more words that hadn’t already been spoken.

  “Well, then. I will take my leave.” Catalina took a deep breath and turned toward the door. With her hand on the knob, she sent out a final plea. “Should you require anything more from me, you know where to find me.”

  But he hadn’t required anything more from her. He hadn’t sent for her. For the last two hours, she had deflected Nalda’s interrogation about why she had been wet by telling her about all the wondrous things she’d seen. For a while, she’d forgotten about Valeryn. She succumbed to her journal with meticulous notes, drawing a fish species by memory.

  Nalda peered over her shoulder at Catalina’s latest drawing.

  “Is a...tiberón?”

  Catalina must have been deep in thought for she hadn’t realized she’d been drawing the shark. “Sí. ’Twas why we got out of the water.”

  Nalda crossed her arms over her chest. The folds of her brow wrinkled profoundly with the rise in her eyebrows. “He in water?”

  The smile slipped. And how could it not with the vision of his bare taut muscles as fluid as the underwater world he swam through popping into her mind. “He would not let me go alone.” For all her frustration over the captain, she couldn’t keep the sigh from her voice.

  She didn’t have to look at Nalda to know she studied her from behind. Thankfully, the old maid pressed no further. Catalina had grown tired of justifying her attraction to the man. She had accepted it, so those close to her should respect that.

  If only Fraco would to do the same.

  Down in the galley, she and Nalda sat at the long table with their plates of fresh fish and bread with Fraco and Valeryn’s men. Big John had asked many questions about what she saw underwater, and her answers had Benito, Cocklyn and Henri captivated. Having their attention on subjects close to her heart thrilled Catalina. These men were curious and engaged in what she had to say. No one, save her father and at one time Simeon, wanted to hear “the ramblings of a whimsical, daffish girl.” Hardened men absorbed her vast and growing knowledge of a part of their world that remained a mystery—what lie beneath the sea’s surface, an entire world they took for granted. They legitimatized all her work. This but made her want the recognition as a naturalist all the more.

  Fraco screwed up his face from time to time, and let out a huff when she spoke of how Tio Alvaro would be pleased with the amount of work she collected thus far, assuring this journey to be fruitful.

  Catalina expected as much from her primo. He had always made his opinion regarding women and their place known. She could fault him for it. Should fault him for it. But how could she when he wrest
led with his own struggle to be respected, to be seen not as a cripple, but as a real man. What she hadn’t expected was for Fraco to throw her to the proverbial wolves.

  “How do you fellows feel about Catalina leading you to your deaths by seducing your capitán?” Fraco’s gaze slowly wandered from crewman to crewman over the rim of his mug. “You are aware that if her, ahem, virtue is sullied, you will all hang, no?”

  “Fraco,” she said, pleading that he didn’t continue. She, too, glanced to everyone at the table, afraid she might see fury and hate replace their friendly visages. Their smiles melted into unreadable expressions upon their faces. Her heart sank.

  She looked to the only person she could trust. Nalda, unable to understand many of the words spoken, understood the shift in the company’s mood. The maid pushed aside her plate and clasped her hands, calculating eyes sizing up every man there. ’Twas good to know Nalda supported her, but Catalina was on her own. This wasn’t the first time she’d been bearded by men to be discredited.

  Fraco set down his grog and straightened in his seat. “Your precious ship will be destroyed, as well.”

  “Capt’n won’t let that happen,” Cocklyn advised, his shoulders bowing up.

  Fraco smirked. “Won’t he? Hasn’t he failed you before?” He shrugged out his arms at the obvious position they were in.

  “Best ya be watchin’ what ya say ’bout Capt’n,” warned Big John, cracking his knuckles, “lest you an’ I go ta blows.”

  “Ya won’t be winnin’ that row.” Benito indicated why with the tilt of his head toward Fraco mangled hand.

  It did not escape Catalina’s notice how Henri uncharacteristically said nothing, his droopy red bows in his beard askew. He avoided eye contact with all at the table. ’Twas just him and his liquor.

  “Capitán Barone has been a gentleman,” Catalina said. Her defense was weak, as they all knew Valeryn was most assuredly not a gentleman.

  “But you have made valiant efforts to seduce him, prima. Do not deny it.”

  Heat flushed up her neck and into her cheeks. She’d been caught. She could never be convincing enough to deny the desire eating her from the inside out. It never occurred to her how these men she now called friends would feel about the risks she was willing to take, the risks she demanded their captain take. Suddenly, the weight of her shame and the attack of Fraco’s accusation angered her into rampage.

  Catalina pegged Fraco with a furious stare. “I will not deny it,” she said. “Just like you,” she regarded each man at the table, “just like all of you, I lay claim to what I want. I’ve never pretended to be any other way. Am I jeopardizing your lives to get what I want? Cielo arriba, I hope not. I am not sacrificing my friends. I am taking a chance on something that pulls on my entire being. Do you not take foolish chances when you seek treasures? ’Tis no different.”

  “Nay, ’tis different,” Big John said. “We go willin’ly when we go rovin’.”

  Her heart sank further. Didn’t they know she meant no harm? And when had it become so hot in the room? Why was it suddenly hard to breathe? Where had the air gone?

  “Ain’t never been on a mission ’cause of a woman that hadn’t left me wonderin’ if I’d be meetin’ me maker,” Cocklyn added.

  Benito harrumphed in agreement.

  Catalina tried for another angle, desperate for their understanding. “When you go roving, the dangers are real. But the rewards outweigh the risk, lest you wouldn’t take the chance. I cannot apologize for what is in my heart. I can only ask you to believe me when I say I am not marching you to the gallows.”

  “Can you be sure?” Fraco taunted. “After all, the last man in your heart faced a scandal that ruined him.”

  Her scandal again. ’Twas the only thing he had of which to provoke her. Well, she had an answer to that, and a true aim for which deliver it. “I will never be able to convince you that my feelings for Valeryn are more than a passing fancy, Fraco. I do not begrudge you for it. How could I when you have never felt even the slightest amount of love for another?”

  Fraco face scrunched in on her comment. “What does that—”

  “Are ya sayin’ ya love the capt’n?” Henri finally broke his silence. That he did so at that moment unnerved her more than when he kept quiet.

  “Ah, well, no, I...” She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t will her heart to slow. She was a small animal frozen by fear. Fear of what, she refused to examine. Love? Certainly not. Surely not?

  “’Tis a matter of circumstance,” Fraco said. “Would it not stand to reason she is infatuated by the man who would take her to these islands she had begged to visit?”

  Catalina opened her mouth to argue, but she went slack-jawed. Was Fraco right? Had she become swept up in the elation and adventure of it all? Did she view him as a deity bestowed upon her to make her dreams come true?

  Nay. The instant she saw him bloodied and bruised in her tio’s library she had become taken by him. This before she knew his role in her endeavor. Her feelings for Valeryn were wholly unidentifiable, but her will to claim him was unmatched by any hesitations or risks.

  She wanted this conversation to end. Wanted Fraco to stop causing her trouble. “Why are you doing this, primo? Why are you being so cruel?”

  “These men have a right to know what you are about.”

  “I am not about anything. I’ve made it very clear what I want—Los Roques and Capitán Barone.”

  Big John rose from the bench with his empty plate, clearly becoming as uncomfortable with the conversation as she. Benito and Cocklyn went back to scooping up their food. Nalda, with her eyes closed and her jowls clamped tight, seemed to be praying.

  “Capt’n’s private business ain’t ours,” Henri said.

  “Even if your lives are at stake?” Fraco said.

  “Said it before, boy.” Henri lifted his gaze from the contents in his mug to skewer Fraco. “Capt’n won’t let that happen.”

  “What if she is betrothed to another? Does it matter then?”

  Catalina’s fork clattered onto a metal plate.

  CHAPTER 14

  Valeryn stood in the shadows outside the galley listening to the on-going conversation. Thoughts warred within his head and he was unable to hold any one of them down long enough to scrutinize their meaning. His men trusted him when they had reason to doubt. Fraco meant to cause unrest and should be dealt with swift and sure. Notwithstanding her cousin’s wicked jabs, Catalina still excused him. And the insufferable little minx openly admitted her seductive measures for him.

  By cock! When asked if she loved him, Valeryn nearly turned away and scurried like a coward topside. She had stammered, and he found he couldn’t breathe as he waited for her answer. Wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. Ludicrous! She was but a fanciful girl, he had reminded himself. And Fraco had made a very good argument. She could positively be delusional—seeing him as the man giving her what she wanted all along. Blinded by an irrational belief he was her savior... Perhaps.

  Perhaps he was just as delusional by the heat in her kiss. Did he imagine the electricity sparking from her fingertips every time she touched him? He didn’t think he had. He’d never felt the same high intensity when he had been with Joelle.

  Cripes, he couldn’t ignore the feelings she stirred in him no matter how hard he tried. He all but came undone when she nursed his wound. Thank Neptune Nalda had been in his cabin—for everyone’s sake.

  But now, his gut churned with Fraco’s last declaration. Who the hell did Catalina belong to?

  Valeryn eased around the threshold to catch a glimpse of Catalina.

  She shot up from the bench, her palms flat upon the table. He could only see her profile, and she was fuming. And beautiful. Christ...

  “I am not betrothed,” she declared.

  Fraco smiled, shaking his head. “Poor Catalina. Yes, mi prima, you are. Diego Machado spoke to Papá—”

  She recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “¡Mientes! Do not lie to me!” />
  That bastard Diego? With his Catalina? His blood boiled with anger and loathing. The mere thought of him touching her... He’d kill him.

  Nay, he wouldn’t. She was not his. Could not be his. The brethren came first.

  “I do not lie,” Fraco said. “This cannot come as a surprise to you. From the moment you landed in Matanzas, he claimed you. No one would dare dispute him over it, be sure of that, prima. Not if they valued their lives.”

  “I will not marry him.” She jabbed her finger into the table to emphasize her declaration. “I despise him.”

  “Come now, Catalina. That was not how you felt a few months ago. Why...you two were quite the paramours. Caught in more than one dalliance, if the prattling is true, causing my father much distress.”

  They were lovers? Valeryn resisted the urge to spit. Rid himself of her taste, from lips shared with that arsehole.

  “You know nothing, Fraco.” Her menacing tone was a vehement hiss, exaggerated by Nalda’s tirade spewed in Spanish.

  “Hearsay and lies.”

  “Are they? Are they lies? Careful, my sweet. I’ve seen you two with my own eyes, docking in a back alley—”

  The next few seconds happened in a blur.

  The slap she delivered could be felt around the room. And in a flash, all the men were out of their seats. Fraco lunged for Catalina. She showed no fear or concern when Fraco grabbed her throat. Valeryn seized his pistol and was about to step into the galley just as Big John and Cocklyn reached for Fraco. But she lifted a hand to halt the lads.

  “Nay.”

  The pirates stopped dead in their tracks. Both were every bit as confused by her command. Valeryn equally so, as well as surprised the vicious jacks obeyed. Instead of barreling into the room, he made a quick decision to wait, to see how Catalina would handle the situation.

  Crewmen were not allowed to carry weapons on board unless they were going into battle or a threat was present. That meant no one in the galley was armed. Well, except perhaps Henri, who warily watched the strangling tension beneath his bushy eyebrows. The old man probably had a gulley knife stuffed in his belt under his vest. But Valeryn, well, he always carried a weapon. He fingered the familiar wood and metal of his flintlock. ’Twould take a blink of an eye and he’d have a ball tearing through Fraco’s temple.