Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

“Do you think you can kill me? You? A careless drunk?”

  ’Twas a snap, a flick of tinder. Valeryn vaulted over the desk. He deflected Diego’s blade and slammed into the son of a bitch. The momentum flung them out the window, smashing part of the window’s casing and shattering panes. They sailed over the water amid slivers of wood and shards of glass. Acceleration and gravity tore them apart, but Valeryn gripped tight to his cutlass.

  Falling, falling, through the cool early morning air. This was going to hurt.

  Valeryn smacked into the water, jarring him with radiating pain upon his flesh, and stealing the breath from his lungs. The calm sea swallowed him with her newly agitated waves. The burning need to breathe pushed him to the surface. Gasping, he scanned the water. No sign of Diego. He dove beneath the surf, once, twice, searching for the him. Nothing. As much as he’d like to find Diego, he had no time to spare. There were more critical needs. Good riddance, ya bastard.

  He swam the perimeter of Rissa to the rope ladder on her port. Part way up the side, he paused to search the bay for the Spaniard arse. Still nothing. With any luck, he broke his back in the fall and drowned. Ah, luck. He’d best not depend on any at all.

  On deck, the fighting had ended as quickly as it began. What was left of Diego’s men had been rounded up and shackled together. He could toss the wastrels overboard with the dead, but he thought better of it. He’d deliver them, with Catalina, Nalda, and Fraco to Montoya. Let the fat alcade decide what to do with them. As for Ochoa, well, Valeryn would flush him out. He was no longer a friend to the brethren. Valeryn would make sure of that. He crossed one pirate, he crossed them all. Ochoa would forever have to watch his back, as pirates didn’t forgive and forget.

  Catalina boarded as Benito and Dawson hauled the Spanish prisoners below. Her face flushed pallid as she witnessed the dead being loaded to a longboat. But then their eyes locked and she rushed to him.

  “You’re wet.” She fussed over him. “Where’s Diego? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, discounting his stinging muscles. “Just took a quick dip.”

  Her brow scrunched and her lips formed into an adorable pout at his answer.

  “And Diego?”

  “Gone.”

  Fraco strode with purpose, joining them. “They’re safe,” he said, indicating the women. “Just as you instructed.”

  Nalda took a place beside Fraco. The old biddy still carried the pistol, holding it haphazardly as if it were as mundane as a rolling pin. Valeryn did his best to ignore the impulse to wrestle the piece from her.

  “And Sam?”

  Henri, dapper in his vest but annoyed to miss the goings-on of combat, brought up the rear. “Waitin’ for yer signal.”

  Valeryn looked to the eastern sky. The sun was fast making an entrance. Only a few scattered clouds clung to the dark. The cloak of night would be lifted in a few short minutes as the golden and red rays crowned the horizon. The time had come to implement the next part of his precarious plan.

  Big John and Cocklyn gathered around. “Get the dead on the water. Weigh anchor, Prepare the guns. We sail now.”

  He turned expressly to Fraco. “Give Sam the signal.”

  Fraco’s vicious grin would make any pirate proud. “Si, Capitán Barone.” He scurried off to the bow to wave a makeshift red banner.

  Valeryn addressed Cocklyn. “We sail within a stone’s cast of Amalia. We won’t have much time to scoop Sam from the water.” ’Twould be risky, sailing between Ochoa’s warships. But hopefully, if his ill-conceived plan worked, they’d gain an impressive lead. With Diego gone, the other captains would be stalled on what to do. “Handsomely, now! Before the others realize we’ve taken Rissa back.”

  “What are we to do?” Catalina marked the men hurriedly at their duties. The sails were already unfurled and the ship lurching forward.

  Knowing she’d not heed any of his commands to hide below, he opted for a different angle. Digging inside his vest, he retrieved a small gun. “The powder is wet.”

  Her face lit up at the sight of her ivory-handled pistol. Tears brimmed her dark feline eyes. “How did you—”

  “Seek out dry powder, and stay out of the way. Heed my orders, the both of you.” He pinned Nalda with a warning glare. “Stay out of the way.” He turned back to Catalina. “Should we come under attack, you will be safer below, under the ship’s water line. Do you understand?”

  Valeryn’s battered heart warmed at her emphatic nod. Had the danger not mounted with every heartbeat, he’d pull her in to kiss the silly grin upon her lips.

  “He comes!” Fraco called, racing back midship. “Two points starboard bow!”

  Valeryn grabbed Catalina by her shoulders to demand her complete attention. “Three armed enemy ships. One naval warship. Do you grasp our situation, belladonna? Your pistol, use it if you have no other recourse. Keep yourself and Nalda safe.”

  She nodded, and he finally saw a flicker of fear in those mahogany pools.

  Still unsure he could trust the wildcat to stay out of trouble, he spun on his heel to meet the coming doom head-on.

  This day may well be Catalina’s last, but at least she was with Valeryn. He took long, purposeful strides as he walked off, throwing out orders to every soul he passed. He had refused to tell anyone his plans for this escape. She figured he had his reasons, but she suspected he didn’t want his decisions to be questioned. That he’d take full responsibility for the failures he was certain would come to pass.

  Their odds were bleak. But she believed in him. She had to. Even if he didn’t believe in himself. His recklessness was their only chance for survival.

  She hurried to the ship’s rail and looked over. Sam had just caught one of the ropes skimming the water. As he climbed up, she heard Fraco scream a battle cry. She threw a glance over her shoulder, finding him hoisting the ship’s colors—a fine black and red skeletal jack.

  Henri, halfway up the quarterdeck ladder called out, “Sam did it! Sam did it!”

  Catalina swung back to look in the direction the little old man pointed. There, the Amalia, with her sails flapping to catch the full wind in the early break of day, drifted without any crew straight for the port stern of one of Ochoa’s ships. Men, scarcely now stirring upon the enemy’s decks, ran about wildly to no avail. Wood crunched and cracked upon impact. Amalia jolted as her target shuddered and snapped.

  Valeryn strode with purpose down the length of the ship, one eye on Ochoa’s other ships, one eye at where Sam would appear.

  Sam gripped the gunwale inches from where she stood. His dark skin drawn tight over bulging muscle glistened. He nodded to Catalina in a silent salutation. She returned the greeting with a nod of her own, completely impressed by his fluid movements as he swung over the rail. He folded into the crew’s organized operations.

  “Step away from the gunwale, lass.” Valeryn’s directive was laden with warning. She quickly stepped back.

  “Wait for my signal,” he called, pointing to Big John.

  It was then a faint recollection niggled forth. Hadn’t Henri said Big John was a master gunner? Catalina took stock of what the men were doing, where the ship was headed. She swallowed hard, but the lump of sudden fear wedged in her throat prevented it. Valeryn intended to sail straight between Ochoa’s other two ships. Should they fire upon Rissa, they’d be shredded. Valeryn was mad!

  She hadn’t time to fully wrap the implications of what would likely happen as Rissa carved her way between the enemy. The formidable vessels on either side shadowed out the light of the rising sun. Gun ports were flipping open. Terror iced her blood. She should heed Valeryn’s warning and get to the ship’s belly.

  Just as she sought out Nalda, grabbing her arm, Valeryn hollered. “Fire at will!”

  The Rissa rocked, nearly knocking her off her feet. Guns from both sides of the ship fired. The noise pounded in her ears. Acrid smoke choked out the briny air, coating her nose and tongue. Large chunks of ship flew up, pieces of timber
obliterated. Bodies flung from places of impact.

  Neither ship had yet to return fire. Yet. They’d only made it halfway through the passage.

  Catalina placed her hand over Nalda’s grip biting into her arm, and pulled her along as they fled to the hatch. Reaching the door, she looked up at Valeryn standing on the quarterdeck. He glanced down. The captain had known all along she’d seek safety. Had waited for it. He had known she’d have fought him had he forced her. Guilt washed over her. She would have wasted precious time over a her trivial defiance. And so, he had let her make the decision when to find shelter.

  Shadows in the companionway from the candle Catalina snatched from a wall sconce leapt and stuttered as the ship shook. The entire way down to the bottom, Nalda strung curses together without a breath between. Catalina shushed her as they entered the storeroom. She needed to hear the muted explosions above, to try deciphering what was happening, gauge Valeryn and his ragtag crew’s success. ’Twas hard enough to hear anything over her hammering heartbeat without Nalda adding her wild rants. They skirted around barrels, rope, and boxes. Finding a niche between crates in the center of the hull, Catalina grasped Nalda’s shoulders and hunched down. They’d be as safe as they could be burrowed in their hiding spot.

  Nalda held her flintlock close to her chest. Wisps of gray frizzled out every which direction from the pins which held her hair in place. Excitable, but tired, eyes locked onto the ladder leading out of the room.

  “I’m sorry, Nalda.”

  Nalda’s quizzing brow scored deep upon her forehead. “No understand.”

  “I’ve done it again. Dragging you along into my muck of trouble.”

  The old maid dismissed her with a wave of her paper-thin hand. “Tonterías. You make me with no idle.”

  Catalina shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Despair muddied her gaze, but a smile played upon Nalda’s thin lips. “Contigo, siempre es una aventura.”

  An adventure? Catalina assumed she burdened Nalda for straying, always covering for her, scolding her when she did the exact opposite of what she was told, begging her to avoid more scandal at all costs, and most especially defying her tio. She hadn’t thought that her onerous behavior might be amusing for the old woman.

  “Tiene un espíritu libre,” Nalda said.

  “A free spirit?”

  “No lose it.”

  A barrage of explosions boomed. Half a breath later, Rissa jolted with such force, Catalina fell to her bottom with a scream.

  “Madre de Dios!” She scrambled back into her crouched position, and quickly righted the overturned candle before something caught fire. She should blow the damned thing out, but desperation to keep fear at bay forbade her from following through. She tried to swallow back the fear blooming in her throat. Rissa had taken a hit, she was sure of it. From the thunderous sounds, Ochoa’s ship undoubtedly unloaded cannon fire upon them.

  Together with Nalda, she made the sign of the cross and sent a silent prayer above that they’d make it through. She shut her eyes only to see Valeryn. A vision of him standing untouched amid chaos at the helm emblazoned in her mind’s eye gave way to the battle she witnessed between him and Diego. Valeryn had been dangerous, bloodied and savage, but unrelenting, and even somewhat graceful in his precise blows. But what was he doing now? Was he all right? Did he command this battle with the same reckoning force? Would he get them all to safety?

  What of Fraco, Henri, and the others? Her body quaked with the unknown. She sent another prayer for it all to be over soon.

  Dread sank deep into her bones. Not just for the ongoing battle and the uncertainty of survival. But for the sole fact none of this would be happening had she not convinced Tio Alvaro to send her on this journey. All those men outside, they fought and possibly died because of her bull-headedness. Because she wanted to be a better person than a dormant, withering wife. Because she wanted to be respected for her mind and work. But what of their lives?

  A sob bubbled past the fear. “This is all my fault,” she moaned. Nalda patted her shoulder in comfort to no avail. “How many lives have I destroyed in my own private war?”

  “There is nothing you can do for them, my love.”

  Catalina froze at the gruff, familiar voice. The barrel of a gun slid out of the shadows and pressed against the crown of Nalda’s head. The old woman’s eyes widened. ’Twas the first time Catalina had ever seen real fear upon her face.

  Diego stepped into the small ring of light. “But you can save yourself.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Henri would have paced had it not been burdensome with his cane. “We’ll never make it.”

  There it was. Proof Henri no more believed Valeryn could captain Rissa under duress than he did.

  Valeryn looked to the shoals dead ahead. Lines of white caps rolled over the shallow sand bars just below the surface. Jagged shelves made it near impossible to navigate through.

  He had once before tried to maneuver Rissa across the Devil’s Teeth shoals while chasing a dangerous foe. He failed, beaching the ship. His rash, inexcusable behavior had detrimental consequences—boarded by the enemy, the murder of Kipp, and the kidnapping of Joelle. The guilt he would carry until his dying breath and beyond.

  He turned his attention on their immediate threat. Though they had inflicted a goodly amount of damage to Ochoa’s ships, none were disabled. And they were in pursuit.

  Rissa managed escaping with no more than three gaping holes, all on the aft, from cleaving between the vessels. She, too, could sail. Yet, she, alone, could not win a battle against three well-outfitted ships. Her best chance to fight another day was to flee. With the sandbanks ahead, they might not get that chance.

  Grinding his teeth, Valeryn faced the shoals again. If he tacked through, they could, nay, would make an escape and gain a large lead. Once in the open sea, Rissa would be very difficult to catch. Aye, the way he saw it, there was only one way to go. No matter the outcome. No matter if he believed he could do it.

  “You are with me, or you are not,” Valeryn said to Henri. “If not, get your bloody arse off my ship.”

  The menace radiating from him caused Henri to take a step back. His surprised eyes narrowed and his sneer pursed from under his bushy beard. “I stand by me capt’n. Even if he is a damned fool.”

  “Then get to the wheel. I need you to aid the helmsman steering through the bars.” He may have been too harsh with the old tar. But, blazes, he couldn’t waste another moment on second-guesses or his failures.

  “Aye, Capt’n.” Henri waddled to the helm, joining the able man there. Valeryn had already made sure a crate was provided so that the little sea dog could step upon it for a better view.

  Off the starboard, the Arcadia unfurled her sails. Captain Nicholls had ample opportunity to stop Valeryn. Valeryn wasn’t certain the naval captain still wouldn’t. ’Twas another risk he took. The pirates weren’t the enemy this time. Nicholls was an honorable man. Valeryn, for all his black worth, was honorable, too. He had meant what he said about ridding Ochoa’s shipping threats of Great Inagua. Should they make it.

  Captain Nicholls stood on Arcadia’s deck. Valeryn saluted him, and he thought the captain did the same, though due to the distance he wasn’t entirely sure.

  Dawson hollered out the sounding. “By the mark fifteen!”

  Valeryn called back to the helm. “One point port bow!”

  Dawson relayed another sounding. Valeryn instructed the helm another turn of the wheel. Several minutes of intense maneuvering and Rissa was dead center of the gnashing currents of the shoals.

  Dawson’s readings became more urgent. They were skimming the shallows. Faces all across the ship kept glancing his way. Some wore expressions of doubt. Sod them.

  Ochoa’s men continued the chase. Would they be skilled enough to make it through? Had he miscalculated? Would he run his ship aground becoming an easy target?

  Valeryn called out another heading. There was a gullet four
points off the starboard bow. If he made a hard right, then eased parallel with the bar, he could cut portside toward that channel and pass through the rest of the shoals. Wouldn’t be easy. Nothing ever was.

  He gave the instructions. Henri took a healthy swig from his flagon and nodded to the helmsman to follow the order. The men manning the sheets called out to each other. Rissa lads and Spaniards worked in unison, grabbing the breeze and controlling the ship’s speed.

  Valeryn’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the rail tighter. His neck ached from the tension. Dear Neptune, he had best have been right lest they be dead. Then what would become of Catalina?

  Rissa canted into the turn. Her hull shuddered as she dragged the bottom. Silence befell the ship in the last stretch, as if she and the crew were suspended between life and death. The ship jolted, snagged upon the last bar. But her momentum shoved her through shaving off the sand.

  She was free. Rissa made it! The crew released their collective breaths and cheered.

  Muscles bound tight in Valeryn’s shoulders finally relaxed. Damn if he didn’t need a stout drink.

  The two ships that pursued them had not fared so well. ’Twould be awhile before high tide, before using anchors and chains to dislodge them. By that time, Rissa would be long gone.

  “Blazes, Valeryn,” Henri called. “You did it!”

  Sam nodded in his direction. Big John and Cocklyn wore impressive grins. Dawson sat back on his haunches, exhausted but pleased. And Benito pumped his arms to the sky encouraging the crew to continue their celebration.

  He did do it. A ray of pride broke into his bitter shell. He’d done something right. ’Twas another step toward making everything all right. They were safe. Catalina was safe. Maybe there was still hope after all.

  “What is it that my uncle promised you? Or did you make a promise to him?”

  Diego scratched at the new growth on his chin with the hand that held the gun. He was too relaxed in the captain’s chair with his boots propped on the desk.