Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  Luis, stepped from the crowd and nodded he was ready to translate Valeryn’s message.

  “This is it, men. We made it to Île-à-Vache without firing a single shot or losing a comrade. You boys started out right competent, but, through no choice of your own, were faced with dangers that often plague a pirate. Aye, none denying, you coves turned stout of heart and sailorly. My thanks to you.” Valeryn tipped his chin in respect to the motley crew.

  The mood shifted. An undercurrent of pride swept among the men, their shoulders back a little farther, standing a mite taller. Good. Those fellas deserved to plume with pride. They’d starved, plundered, faced a massacre, and had been hunted for days. They’d been lucky. But they were alive.

  “Alas, this venture is not over. There are still four ships out there ready to burn and sink me and this vessel. For that reason, I will be escorting Miss Montoya and her companions to shore for their safety. Once my business is settled here, Amalia will set sail. Those of you who want to stay on Cow Island and wait for the merchant to take you back to Cuba, do not be on board. From this moment, you are released from your duty.”

  “Perdón, Capitán,” Luis said. “The men, they do not wish to leave.”

  Valeryn frowned. “I do not understand.”

  The clunk-thud of Henri’s cane knocked against the floorboards as he pushed his way forward. “The fool lads want ta stand by ya,” he said.

  “Nay. Explain to them the likely outcome should they stay,” Valeryn demanded.

  “They know,” Big John called from behind the crowd. “Don’t make no difference. They want to see this through with their captain.”

  Valeryn shook his head, unable to grasp why these Spaniards would choose to put themselves in danger. “Fools. The lot of ya.”

  “They’re scared shitless, Capt’n. Ain’t no two ways ’bout it,” Cocklyn said.

  “But they trust in you,” Benito finished.

  What the devil had gotten into them? Had they not been paying attention? Valeryn had done nothing but put them in danger. Aye, he expected respect and diligence from his crew so long as he was their captain. But it all was a ruse. They would see the truth. He was nothing more than a reckless bastard.

  If they wanted to follow a reckless bastard into hell, well, he would not stop them. Lord knew they needed a full crew to eke out half a chance at escape and making it back to Cuba to save what was left of Rissa’s crew. Heaven help the macks.

  He smirked. “Very well, lads. Prepare to do as a pirate does—blood for blood, a proud and short life.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “You are going to leave me at a whorehouse?” Catalina’s face slacked in surprise. Never mind Valeryn’s reason. She didn’t want to be deposited in the care of a lady who ran a brothel. She didn’t want to be left at all.

  She looked up at the balcony of the Le Jardin. Leafy green vines dotted with red dollops of flowers cascaded from pots on either side of the terrace. A dark-haired girl draped in yellow skirts lounged there, her bare leg swinging over the side. She watched the group of them below with a lazy grin. Or rather, she watched Valeryn. Catalina tilted her head and put her hand upon Valeryn’s biceps, capturing the girl’s attention. “You cannot do this.”

  Nalda stood beside her in a way that reminded Catalina of a bull, head down, burning eyes focused solely on its target, and about to charge. She half-expected the little old woman to lunge at Valeryn.

  Fraco, on the other hand, wore a lop-sided grin and winked at the strumpet on the balcony. He’d have no trouble making himself at home here at Le Jardin.

  Sam stood patiently with her bags under each arm. And Henri, too. Though Catalina suspected Henri wanted to make sure Nalda didn’t stray back onto Amalia.

  “Frannie,” Valeryn said, “is a respectable business woman, she will see to your—”

  “I’m sure she is a fine lady, but I don’t want to stay.”

  “We have been through this. You have no choice.”

  Though Valeryn had repeatedly explained his decision was to meant to keep her safe, this time, the words were weighted with finality. She was not getting her way. The last time that happened it caused irreparable damage. The panic started low, but was beginning to gain ground. “I will not allow it.” She stamped her foot onto the dirty stoop for good measure. It was pointless.

  He grasped her chin, the pinching of his fingers smarted. “You. Have. No. Choice.”

  Valeryn kissed her hard. The scruff of his face pricked into her tender skin. Tears sprang from her beneath her lids squeezed shut. Suddenly, she felt the space between them crumble. A divide that widened with frightful speed. She was losing him. No! She couldn’t bear it.

  The kiss abruptly ended, leaving her gasping for breath, teetering on the edge of the chasm he created. He let go of her chin to tuck her hair behind her earlobe. Leaning in, his lips skimmed the shell of her ear. “You will go on to do great things, belladonna.”

  A hole burst in her heart. Like a leak sprung in a ship’s hull, she was sinking, overcome by heartache, desperation threatening to drown her. “Please, Valeryn,” she whispered. “I lo—”

  “Let’s go inside.” Fraco vibrated with excitement. Her primo chomped at the bit to get inside and pick him a girl to pass the leisurely hours.

  “Yes. Inside.” Valeryn reached behind her to open the door.

  Annoyance itched beneath her skin. ’Twas just like Fraco to ruin this moment with Valeryn. He had done it on purpose, that she was certain. She could knock that smirk right off his damned face. Perhaps she should thank him, for she nearly spoke words from her heart. Once they were said, she’d not be able to recall them. ’Twould not change Valeryn’s mind. She’d be flayed open and humiliated. Sí, she would thank Fraco for saving her from herself.

  Catalina swiped her wet cheeks dry and swept through the brothel door Valeryn held open. The moment she crossed the threshold and passed beyond the short corridor, she was taken aback by her surroundings. Instead of walking into a seedy establishment, she found herself in a verdant, sumptuous garden, assaulted by bouquets of fragrant flowers. Creeping vines, fat-leafed fans, and colorful potted plants filled three sides of the courtyard. An occasional bird flit through the beams of sunlight peeking through the palms. The empty tables dotting the garden seemed out of place.

  Fraco gave Henri a friendly pop upon his arm. “Hope the girls are as wild as these plants.”

  Henri straightened his beard bows, but his laughter died as he caught sight of Nalda’s death glare.

  ’Twas then Sam grunted something that sounded like a chuckle.

  An older woman with silver hair laced with pearls piled high atop her head sat at the bar on the opposite side of the courtyard. Her brown dress with pale rosette embroidery hugging her curvy body belied her age by a score of years. She rose from her seat with grace Catalina didn’t expect from a woman of her profession.

  “My dear, Frannie,” Valeryn said.

  “Captain Barone.” Frannie dipped her chin in welcome. An apologetic pull of her brow sent an anxious tremor through Catalina.

  Valeryn noticed, too. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry, Valeryn.” The words spilled out in a plea for understanding. “He threatened to arrest my girls and burn this place down.”

  Valeryn seemed to grow three inches. “Who?”

  Scared, Frannie shook her head. “Forgive me.”

  He snatched her arm, scaring both Frannie and Catalina. “Who, Frannie?”

  Frannie closed her eyes, anguish crinkling her frown.

  “We meet again, Captain Barone.”

  The familiar voice drifted from the landing of stairs above. Her blood iced and she ceased to breathe.

  “Captain Nicholls,” Valeryn hissed.

  Soldiers scrambled out from hiding places and adjacent rooms she hadn’t noticed before. Sam dropped the baggage and reached for his weapon. Henri traded oaths with Nalda, as he fumbled around for his pistol. And Fraco, her dear primo, did th
e absurd. He giggled. Giggled!

  Muskets adorned with bayonets urged the group of them into a huddle.

  The naval captain’s footfalls down the steps echoed in the cavernous courtyard. Metal scraped against metal as Valeryn reservedly drew his cutlass. His gaze afire with fury remained glued to Nicholls his entire descent.

  “Thank you for your accommodations, Miss Varga. You may take your leave.”

  Frannie glanced between the men, and in a flounce, she curtsied and disappeared through a door behind the bar.

  “Captain Barone.” The naval captain, dressed in full uniform, smiled. ’Twas a genuine smile. One reserved for friends. “I am so pleased that you and your crew and passengers did not perish from starvation. But then, with a man like you, I had no doubt that you would not allow that to happen. Much respect to you, sir.”

  “What is this about?” Valeryn said, though the question was wrenched from between his grinding teeth. “Why are you here on a French island?”

  A patient smile spread across the captain’s face. “Under the orders of my commodore who has a vested interest in the development of this port. Nothing more.”

  “Seems convenient.”

  “Seems that way,” agreed the naval captain, frowning with disapproval. “The commodore’s brother-in-law is the proprietor.”

  “This explains much,” Valeryn said.

  As before, Captain Nicholls kept his hands clasped behind his back. In direct contrast to Valeryn, he was relaxed, as if he was speaking with an old chum rather than a menacing pirate. He shook his head as if the explanation was a shameful truism. “You lied to me, Barone.”

  “Oh? And what is it I lied about?”

  The captain strolled around their circle, stopping in front of Fraco to pierce him with a daring stare. Catalina prayed her primo would not test boundaries. To keep his cocky mouth shut. Fraco’s lips tightened, blatant in showing his disgust of the officer.

  “Your port of call,” Captain Nicholls said, continuing his saunter. “You were not on your way to Santo Domingo. But that I knew straightaway. However, that was not your only lie.”

  He knew! The naval captain knew! Knew that Valeryn was a pirate. Mierda!

  “Was it not?” Valeryn challenged.

  “This young lady,” he answered, stopping in front of Catalina, “she was not a passenger on her way to visit family. She is Catalina Montoya.”

  The bottom of Catalina’s stomach fell away. ’Twasn’t what she thought. Far from it. She was in trouble. Nalda grabbed her arm and stepped closer as if to shield her from Nicholls.

  “What business of yours who she is?” Valeryn countered.

  “She is the niece of Matanzas Alcade Mayor Alvaro Montoya. Daughter of Admirante Alejandro Montoya.”

  “An admiral?” Valeryn lanced her with narrowed eyes. She squirmed under his accusatory scrutiny, as if she withheld from him that bit of information. Would he have taken her into his arms had he known? Perhaps not. She regretted nothing.

  “You did not know?” The naval captain feigned mild surprise.

  “No, I did not.” He tore his gaze from her and directed his full attention upon the captain.

  “Then you now see why I have an interest in the lass. And why I must insist you hand her over.”

  Valeryn smirked. “Why would you want her, I wonder?”

  Captain Nicholls returned to sauntering along his circle of prisoners. “’Tis nothing personal. But a small armada of Spanish ships are disrupting English trade near Great Inagua. Perhaps with Miss Montoya’s help, we can persuade the Spanish to withdraw from the area.”

  “That is an insignificant island. Hardly worth the Spanish effort, I’d say.”

  “Nonetheless, Miss Montoya is a prize I am sure will capture the attention of the Spanish throne should these ships not comply with my principled demands.”

  Captain Nicholls nodded to his men. Two came forward and seized her by her upper arms. Nalda screeched, swatting at the soldiers. She was quickly subdued with the a musket introduced a hair from her forehead.

  “Here now,” Henri barked.

  Sam bowed up, doubling in frightening size.

  “Stand down,” Valeryn warned his mates. “She is not going anywhere.”

  “At this moment, anyhow,” Nicholls added.

  Though fear had cemented her fighting instinct, her mind raced with fragmentary theories of what she should do or say. Nothing connected. The thought should have never crossed her mind, given the dire straits she faced, but she worried what disgrace her capture would bring her family. The task to which would befall her papá, and the ultimate scandal, might finally break her. She was more scared of that than being hauled away by the Brits.

  With a calm she hoped to convince she possessed, she gazed down at the grip upon her right arm. “I am sure there would be a peaceful resolution once I speak to the audiencia,” she said, pinning her gaze on the naval captain. “’Twould be a matter of a formal request. My uncle is a fair man.”

  A strangled snort came from Fraco, and she just caught the roll of his eyes.

  Catalina ignored her primo. “And is this,” she tilted her head toward the soldier beside her, “necessary?”

  “Aye,” Captain Nicholls said. “’Tis necessary, should anyone try to be heroic.”

  The edge of Valeryn’s mouth tilted with amusement for a fraction of a second. He may not think of himself as heroic, but to Catalina, he had already saved her. Now he’d turn her away—for her safety. ’Twas debatable what he would do now.

  Never mind that, she would handle this. “We do not need to go to such extremes. I can arrange for a meeting,” she stated with bravado. She had a way of making Tio Alvaro listen.

  “A gallant suggestion, Miss Montoya. But I did not say these ships were Spanish naval ships.”

  “If not naval, then who?” Valeryn’s stony expression returned harder than before.

  “Mercenaries, perhaps, but they fly Spanish jacks.”

  He never lost his austere stance, but there was a visible relax in his coiled muscles. Some sort of totality had occupied Valeryn now. “And you think Montoya will intervene to make your job easier?”

  Captain Nicholls smiled, denying nothing.

  For the first time, Catalina realized the extent of what was happening. She was a pawn in a game with no rules and no winning outcome. More importantly, over something menial, with no real international consequence.

  “You are right, Nicholls,” Valeryn said. “I did lie to you when we first met. But not just over Miss Montoya, or our port, or our reason for sailing. And I must set you straight. You are making a mistake.”

  The naval captain’s face opened, his brow arching up in curiosity. “Oh?”

  Valeryn sheathed his sword and took a step forward. A soldier blocked his path, prodding his gun’s bayonet an inch from his gut. With the tip of his finger, Valeryn swiped the gun to the side.

  Captain Nicholls nodded to his soldier to allow Valeryn to pass.

  “Those ships, the mercenaries, as you called them, belong to a ruthless merchant by the name Ochoa. And those same ships have chased us here. They had a mission to kill us, all of us, and sink the Amalia. Ochoa is Montoya’s closest confidante, but the fat bastard is not aware Ochoa is a traitor. He is unaware Ochoa sent a hunting party for us. Likely he’d be told that his niece and…” he paused glancing at Fraco before going on, “…ship were lost at sea.”

  “Fascinating story,” Captain Nicholls said. His tone was dry, but the light behind his eyes gave away his yearning interest.

  “Ah, but there is more.” A satirical grin slanted Valeryn’s mouth. “The captain of this group of ships, Diego Machado, is working independently with another goal in mind. He wants one thing and one thing only.” He looked directly at Catalina. “Her.”

  Nicholls lifted his chin, contemplating his new knowledge, as his gaze raked across her from head to foot. She should have been uncomfortable under his steady stare. Instead, she wa
s hopeful that he would somehow help them.

  “You are a honorable man,” Valeryn said. “I’d wager you are favored by your superiors for carrying out your service to the letter. That is evident in your presence here on French held territory. As such an obedient servant, you are duty-bound to protect an innocent woman.”

  He slowly nodded, still staring at her.

  “You will not be received in Matanzas’s port. If Montoya knows you bring his...niece...he’d surely send Ochoa out to meet you. Ochoa would not risk having Montoya know the truth. He’d have her killed before going back to shore and claim ’twas all a ruse. You would be delivering her to her death. That, sir, would sully your name and reputation. And quite possibly start a skirmish between you and the port. Not something your superiors would be happy about, I’d guess.”

  “I am not convinced,” Captain Nicholls said.

  “Montoya would not be willing to make this a diplomatic affair.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Because he wouldn’t have sent me, a man paying a steep debt.”

  The naval officer canted his head, obviously wondering who he was dealing with.

  “There is a fourth ship,” Valeryn continued, “which joined this little flotilla. A ship commandeered by Diego Machado. My ship...the Rissa.”

  A collective intake of air was heard throughout the courtyard. Soldiers looked to each other, shifting their weight uncomfortably, as if they expected to be ambushed at any moment.

  So it was true. Valeryn and his pirate crew were known by all.

  Captain Nicholls rested his elbow on the arm crossed over his chest and rubbed his chin, absorbing all he’d learned. How Valeryn unraveled the scenarios so easily was beyond Catalina.

  “How did I miss it?” Nicholls said. “Captain Barone, a pirate captain.”

  Valeryn shrugged. “Do not be hard on yourself. I’d only recently been elected, not worthy of legends.”

  “Not worthy? The captain of Rissa?”

  ’Twas the oddest thing. Valeryn smirked as if he’d cornered the captain, as if he was about to win a high-stakes card game.