Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “Come now, my Catalina. You know my heart belongs to you.”

  Not so. Though he showed affections for her, he tried to control her, by force if necessary. Of course he also bedded anything with two legs and a skirt. “Which is it, Diego?”

  He shrugged, aiming his pistol once again at Nalda.

  Her maid glared at him. The fear was gone from her aged, opaque eyes. She simmered instead. Her cap of gray hair was frizzy with more loose strands from Diego jostling them into the captain’s cabin.

  “’Tis not so unusual an arrangement. I tame your obsession for weeds and swivving beasts, and not only do you bear my children, I gain a position within Montoya’s retinue.”

  She almost snorted at the ridiculousness of the notion. Diego was a brute, not a gentleman. He was muscle, not intellect.

  “Did my uncle agree to this?”

  A smug smile unrolled across his face, still bruised from the recent beating he took from Valeryn. “At Ochoa’s urgings.”

  Catalina’s stomach lurched. Nalda paled. Diego’s smile spread further.

  How could her uncle do this? He was not one to give in to his sister-in-law’s demands. And certainly not to a ruffian like Diego Machado. What had Isaias Ochoa said to make him agree? Had she been that much of a task for Tio Alvaro?

  Her gaze dropped to Diego’s gun. If they survived and made it back to Matanzas, she would beg for Tio’s forgiveness. Throw herself upon his mercy. She just could not marry Diego. Madre de Dios, she just could not.

  Despair seeped into her being. She found it difficult to even move. “If your heart belonged to me,” she said, her voice heavy, “you would not try to change me.”

  “I will treat you well.” By the expression and softness of his eyes, he meant it with all sincerity.

  “Yet you threaten me and Nalda with the brandish of your pistol.”

  He gestured to their grand surroundings filled with the Rissa’s captain’s regalia and prizes. “’Twould be foolish not to have insurance, no? Do not fear. Neither of you will get hurt by my simple demands.”

  “Demands?”

  “To kill Barone.” His jaunty tone suddenly soured. “Your lover,” he spat. “Yes, I know about your illicit affair with that rake.” His mouth contorted with disgust. “Don’t fret, my love. I shall forgive you and conceal your latest scandalous behavior.”

  She shook her head in sheer disbelief. Alas, Diego was right. To the world beyond the ship and crew, her actions with Valeryn would be seen as disreputable and heinous. But to her, ’twas love. Love.

  “I will regain control,” Diego continued, “and we will all sail back to Matanzas safely.”

  “The crew will never agree,” she declared with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  “They will. And you will help. Too many innocent lives are at stake.” His gaze slowly passed between her and Nalda, making his meaning clear as crystal.

  The door swung open and before Catalina could see who entered, Diego fired off a shot. Fraco slammed into the door jamb and slid down the wall.

  Diego cursed, his boots hitting the floorboards.

  Catalina screamed. Knocking over her chair, she rushed to Fraco’s side. Red bloomed from his shoulder, shock in his wide eyes.

  Nalda rose from her seat, but Diego snatched her arm and forced her to sit with the tip of his cutlass.

  “What have you done?” Catalina screeched at Diego.

  “That bastard shot me,” Fraco said. His befuddled expression stared unblinking at her.

  Catalina worked to remove his tunic to staunch the blood flow.

  Diego let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, this complicates matters.” He opened the desk drawer and retrieved another pistol. “Best you not move,” he warned Nalda. “I will kill you.”

  “You shot me!” Fraco wailed in disbelief.

  “Nay,” Diego said, striding to the door. “Barone shot you. You caught him defiling your prima, he shot you, and then I killed him. Saving Catalina from an irreparable, murderous pirate. That will be the tale everyone will hear.”

  “No one will believe you,” Catalina cried.

  “Ah, but they will. You will tell them. And if not, well, I will kill Nalda, as well.”

  She was caught. Her mind whirred but she could grasp nothing to rebut his plan fast enough.

  Diego pushed the door almost closed and took aim at Fraco’s head.

  Catalina threw her arms around Fraco. “No!”

  The door exploded open. Valeryn. In a flash of furious steel and agony, Diego’s severed arm thudded to the floor, the hand still gripping the gun.

  Valeryn burst inside, kicking Diego in the chest causing him to fall. In that instant, Valeryn straddled over him, disarming the man writhing in pain of his cutlass.

  “That bastard shot me!” Fraco said again.

  Valeryn passed a quick glance. “You all right, mate?”

  “It bloody hurts.”

  Valeryn nodded. “It should.”

  “Ladies? Are you harmed?”

  Both Catalina and Nalda shook their heads. But, lord, her stomach was near revolting.

  Catalina swallowed down the burning in the back of her throat, avoiding sight of the detached limb pooling in blood inches away and Diego’s wretched groans. She wadded up the tunic and applied pressure to her cousin’s wound. He grimaced but did not complain. In fact, though pained, he smiled.

  Sam, Henri, and Big John filled the entry.

  “What the devil?” Henri’s bushy brows frowned.

  “Get these men to the galley,” Valeryn ordered. “Have Fili and Hacker cauterize Diego’s stub. Wouldn’t want him to bleed out before we get back to Matanzas.”

  “I will kill you!” Diego’s shouts were laden with suffering. “All of you!”

  “It will shut him up, as well,” Valeryn added, dragging the scoundrel to his feet.

  “Henri, get Fraco some Madeira wine for his pain.” Valeryn smirked. “The lad deserves it.”

  “Madeira?” Nalda quizzed. “I go with.”

  Catalina nodded her dismissal. Her maid had been through a great deal, and Madeira wine was her favorite.

  “As much as you like, Señora,” Valeryn said.

  Henri marked Nalda with a suspicious glare, but soon nodded to a truce.

  “Oh,” Valeryn added, “and toss this overboard.”

  Catalina squeezed her eyes shut and fought back another wave of nausea as Valeryn removed the pistol from Diego’s severed hand.

  “Aye, Capt’n,” Henri said.

  She walked to the windows as everyone vacated the cabin. She heard the quiet but distinctive sound of the flintlock being set on the desk just before Valeryn came to stand behind her. He placed his hands upon her shoulders and instinctively she leaned back into him. His comfort warmed her, steadying the shivers wracking her body.

  “My belladonna,” he whispered.

  “He was going to kill Fraco,” she said. “He was going to kill you.”

  “No, he wasn’t.” Valeryn murmured against the crown of her head. “I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  Oh, she wanted to believe it. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I swore I’d keep you safe.”

  “Is that all?” ’Twas foolish. But after all they had been through, she had to know. She had to know what she meant to him.

  When he did not immediately answer, she wished to recall the question and bury her head in the sand. What had she expected him to say?

  He turned her around to face him. His golden eyes bore into her, begging for understanding. It scared her. Her heart ceased to beat. She couldn’t even swallow.

  “You are an amazing woman, Catalina Montoya.” He bent until his lips hovered over hers. She inhaled his manly scent of salt and rich wood. Finally, he kissed her. ’Twas chaste and sweet. Not the smoldering fire of primal lust. Not the kiss of promised love.

  Her heart broke.

  CHAPTER 24

  Catalina pried her eyes o
pen. A warm glow from the window filled the cabin. She snuggled deeper into the bed, still suspended between sleep and awareness. Slowly, memories of lovemaking in the wee hours swept away the grogginess. She reached for Valeryn, but the bed was empty. Catalina pulled herself upon her elbows and looked about the cabin. He was nowhere to be found. ’Twas then she heard the squawk of gulls.

  Out the window, she spied the port of Matanzas. Ships dotted the bay, and if she looked off to the right, she could see the stone cupola of Tio’s manor rise above the buildings.

  Catalina wasn’t prepared for the assault of emotions. Relief and joy at being home pushed against profound sadness. Her time with Valeryn had come to an end. For all her pleading, he had held fast, maintaining he did not belong in her world and she did not belong in his. He was convinced of it, and, sadly, with all his logical reasoning, she hadn’t quite convinced herself otherwise, either.

  Her dream of being accepted by the Royal Society as a contributing naturalist still burned bright. Over the last week, she had busied herself compiling her notes and writing many articles of her findings. She would be successful. The members of the society would accept her and her work. They had to.

  But try as she might, she could not figure how Valeryn would fit into her life, or if he’d even want to.

  Catalina dressed. She would seek him out before she lost him forever. Mayhap before the day was done she’d think of something.

  “I am to believe Diego Machado took Rissa from port and not your pirate crew?” Montoya weaved his chubby fingers together and leaned over his meaty arms resting upon his desk. Ochoa stood unmoving beside Montoya. His gaze methodically slid between Valeryn, Henri, Fraco, and back.

  Valeryn had long accepted his fate this day. After all, over everything else that had happened, he was three days late in returning. He was not surprised he’d been shackled the instant he stepped upon shore. Damn if Henri hadn’t insisted on joining him. Now he, too, wore manacles. But the truth had to be known.

  “I am to believe your word over someone loyal to me?” Montoya continued.

  “Nay,” Valeryn said. “You are to believe your son.”

  Fraco shrugged out of his jacket, revealing his bandaged shoulder. “’Tis true. Capitán Barone saved my life.”

  “¡Mi hijo!” Montoya stood as quick as a large man could. “What happened to you?”

  “Diego tried to kill me.”

  “Where is Diego?” Bartholomew, Diego’s fat chum from the El Cuervo Negro tavern, stepped out of the shadows of a corner. “Let him speak for himself.”

  Valeryn hated men like Bartholomew—squat cowards who hid behind larger, stronger men whilst instigating trouble. “Recovering,” was all Valeryn would say.

  “That is not all, Padre,” Fraco said. “Diego,” he shot a glance at Bartholomew, “was a part of a bigger plot to kill us all and sink Amalia.”

  Valeryn watched Ochoa as Fraco peeled back the layers of reveal. The man was unreadable and much too quiet.

  “But he defied that order,” Fraco went on. “Diego wanted to spare Catalina. He still intended to marry her.”

  “Is it true, Tio?”

  Valeryn closed his eyes. How had Catalina slipped past Sam and the men? She was to stay on board until he acquired a guarantee the men and Rissa were to be free. Fire and brimstone, would nothing go his way?

  “Mi querida sobrina.” Montoya’s face mottled with shame. He hustled from behind his desk, his arms wide. She folded into his embrace. “I am ashamed to admit I had considered the proposal. Your mother, she is difficult, and with your papá indefinitely away... She was wrong to expect me to disregard my brother’s duty. ’Tis Alejandro’s blessing you should have. Diego Machado is not a man worthy of you or the Montoya family.”

  “Not many among yer ret’nue are, Alcade,” Henri said.

  Valeryn looked pointedly at Ochoa. “There is more to this tale.”

  “Do you have something to prove, pirata?” Ochoa sneered.

  Catalina stepped away from her uncle. Toe-to-toe she stood with Ochoa. Valeryn itched to go to her, to pull her away from the muckrake. The need to protect her was too great.

  “What is going on here?” Montoya demanded to know.

  “’Twas Ochoa who planned and organized our demise,” Catalina said.

  Ochoa’s jaw twitched as he glared at her. Valeryn’s need to protect her grew fiercely.

  “But why?” she goaded.

  “I can answer that.” What the devil...Valeryn recognized the familiar voice commanding the room’s attention.

  The alcade’s valet, wringing his hands, sputtered apologies for the abrupt interruptions.

  “And you are?” Montoya enquired of the newcomers.

  “Captain Thayer Drake.” Drake exuded an ominous, dangerous darkness, for which he was known for, despite him being a happily married pirate and tavern owner. “And this is Willie.” He gestured behind him.

  A shaggy-headed, fair man who’d seen many years at sea sidled alongside Drake.

  “Willie!” Henri said excitedly.

  Valeryn was greatly relieved to see the helmsman. “Welcome back from the dead, mate.”

  Willie nodded, confused. “Glad to be back?”

  Valeryn turned his attention to Drake. A silent greeting passed between him and his old friend and captain.

  “Capitán Drake.” Montoya waved off his valet. “You are the same pirata who with Barone overthrew Machete in Havana.”

  Drake dipped his chin in polite concession. “That I am.”

  “I am grateful to you for liberating Matanzas’s sister port.” Montoya crossed his arms over his wide chest. “But if you will, enlighten me. What is this nonsense of schemes and murder?”

  Drake relayed the story of how Willie and Branson escaped the seizure of Rissa, the manipulation of which was under Ochoa’s orders. Montoya shifted a wary look to Ochoa.

  “You see,” Thayer continued, “Ochoa’s shipping business has been in decline due to a competitor—Lord Dominick English. His profits have dropped, especially since English has employed the brethren from time to time for protection or commissions which require anonymity, just as Ochoa’s has been wont to do.”

  Valeryn watched Ochoa closely. His nostrils flared ever so slightly. Thayer was hitting the mark.

  “When Barone got himself arrested...” Valeryn shrugged when Drake cast an amused glance his way. “Ochoa found an opportunity. Make Rissa his own.”

  “Why?” The folds of Montoya’s plump brow cratered downward. “I do not understand.”

  “Rissa is the fastest ship in the Caribbean. He could disrupt shipping lanes, attack merchants and blame the brethren. He has been using you, Alcade.”

  Montoya’s face increasingly reddened with Thayer’s explanation. “No me gusta ser un títere. I am not a puppet.”

  “These men are pirates, Alvaro,” Ochoa said, cool and calm. “They cannot be trusted.”

  “You, yourself, convinced me of their integrity.” The pleats of his frown deepened. “I trusted you, Isaias. Considered you my confidante.” Montoya shook his head. “I know of your business troubles.” He exhaled as if the load of the words he spoke had been physically cumbersome. “Guardias, arrestarlo.”

  Ochoa snatched his pistol from his belt and shoved it into Catalina’s back. Simultaneously, Bartholomew pulled a flintlock on Montoya. Drake countered with his own gun aimed at Bartholomew, and the soldiers at everyone else. Valeryn and Henri were stuck in the middle, helpless.

  “You stupid idiot,” Ochoa spat at Montoya. “You cannot arrest me.”

  Valeryn cursed. Catalina was in mortal danger. Shackled, there was little he could do. But he had to do something. Hell...the time to be reckless was now.

  “This is not wise, Ochoa,” Valeryn said, taking a step toward him.

  “Valeryn,” Henri warned.

  Valeryn tried to hold eye contact with Ochoa. He tried to keep a firm lock on his enemy. Until she whispered his name. Her plump
bottom lip quivered, her cat-like eyes wide with fear...for him. His heart seized. He was caught in her undercurrent. No other woman had ever been scared for him. Nay, even Joelle accepted the risks they, he, took. This woman had his heart. He only needed to decide what to do with it.

  “Let Miss Montoya go,” he said, taking another step.

  “Isaias,” Montoya pleaded. “Do not be a fool.”

  Ochoa chuckled. “You are the fool. You are too trusting.”

  “What will you do?” Valeryn said.

  “Like you pirates, I have many on this island loyal to me. And many more all over the Caribbean. I need simply to disappear.”

  This Valeryn did not doubt. He took a step closer. “Assuming you get out of this room alive.”

  Ochoa tilted his head as if he hadn’t considered any other outcome but escape. The sheen of gunmetal glinted from behind Catalina. Ochoa extended his arm aiming his pistol at Valeryn’s center. Valeryn braced for the bullet and the pain that would steal his breath. What came next, he could not have expected.

  Catalina threw her shoulder back into Ochoa.

  Valeryn’s instinct took over. He rushed forward as the motherless bastard stumbled and swung his clasped, shackled hands across Ochoa’s jaw. The force spun him, causing him to drop his weapon. Valeryn threw his hands over the miscreant’s head, wrapping the manacle chain around his neck.

  Vaguely, through the rush of blood and vengeance pounding in his ears, Valeryn heard the commotion—shouts from Henri, Fraco, Catalina, the grunting, the shuffling of footsteps, and Montoya ordering his soldiers to stand down.

  Ochoa struggled, gasping, clawing at the chain snuffing out his life.

  “Do not kill him.” Catalina’s gentle hand touched Valeryn’s shoulder. His teeth ground, sweat trickled down his temple. He wanted to destroy the man for threatening all that was his—his crew, his ship, his woman. “Let mi tio dole out justice. ’Tis the democratic thing to do. ’Tis your brethren’s way.”

  The air in his revenge deflated. Catalina was right. He released Ochoa who fell to the floor, coughing for air. Soldiers were upon them both.

  Valeryn scanned the room. Thayer had disarmed Bartholomew and all immediate danger was gone.