Captive Embraces

by Fern Michaels

  “We’re taking the barrel and its contents to sea. Nail the lid shut for us, Tyler. We don’t have much time. If you’re coming with us, this is it. You won’t have the opportunity again.”

  “Oh my God!” Tyler exclaimed hoarsely as Sirena pressed the hammer into his hand.

  “Nail it shut, Tyler!” she commanded. Woodenly, Tyler took the tool and the nails which were offered by a silent and stern Frau Holtz. He squeezed his eyes shut as he banged the first nail and his thumb along with it.

  “Has Jacobus readied the carriage?” Sirena asked of the Frau.

  “Ja,” the old woman nodded.

  “Do you want to come along with me or will you stay in London with Wren?” Sirena asked, already knowing what her answer would be.

  “We go! The child has already taken what is most necessary and put it in the carriage. She waits outside with Jacobus.”

  Sirena smiled and fondly clasped her loyal friend’s sturdy hand. “I will see to the child’s welfare and yours,” Sirena promised. “But I think it best that you and Wren should go to Spain for the time being. I will join you when I’m sure things are safe. For now, take some of my jewels; it will tide you over till I can get cash to you.”

  Sirena looked at Tyler, who had just finished his gruesome task. “I’ve been thinking. What should be done about the servants? And Stephan’s valet and footman, Smythe and Rathbone?”

  “Don’t worry about them. The cook and housemaids will go to my mother to complain their mistress skipped off without paying them their wages and, to keep peace, mother will pay them. As for those ruffians Stephan hired, they’ll make off with anything of value in the house. They won’t want to be running to the law. They don’t have loyalty to anyone or anything. Besides, what they’ll manage to steal from here would be twenty times what they could earn in a lifetime of fetching and carrying for the gentry.”

  “All right. Now, please roll the barrel through to the kitchen and Jacobus will help you get it into the carriage. Hurry, we’ve only half an hour before dawn. Someone is bound to come looking for Stephan when he doesn’t appear for the duel.”

  “What’s this?” Jacobus cried happily as he saw Tyler rolling the impromptu casket out the kitchen door. As he hurried to lend a hand, he asked jubilantly, “Booty for the crew?”

  “It goes over the side as soon as we make open water,” Sirena said coolly. “This booty you wouldn’t want, my friend.”

  In the dark of the coach Sirena looked out the window. “Tyler, did you notice that man standing outside the courtyard? Have you ever seen him before?”

  Tyler’s face whitened and he leaned toward Sirena to look but her window. “Yes, I know who he is. He’s one of the gamblers sent by the man who was to face Stephan in a duel. He’s there watching to see that Stephan doesn’t try to get away.”

  “Well, I suppose his suspicions aren’t aroused, otherwise he would have made an effort to stop us. To all intents and purposes he still thinks Stephan is in the house.”

  “Yes, and a lucky thing for all of us,” Tyler breathed.

  Through the streets of London Jacobus drove the horse team, wildly and recklessly. As they approached the wharf he slowed the animals. Wren squealed and grasped Frau Holtz for support as the coach came to a jarring halt and Tyler opened the door for them to exit. Jacobus raced to the ship on his skinny bandy legs and, within minutes, all hands were aboard. The anchor was hoisted and the ship ready to sail. The first faint glimmer of dawn was showing when the copper-bottomed ship slid from her berth in search of open water.

  Regan pounded on the door with a vengeance. Where the hell was Stephan Langdon? Why wasn’t someone answering the damned door? His eyes sought those of the gambler who was waiting patiently.

  “He’s in there. I saw him go in and he didn’t come out. Break down the door,” he said flatly.

  Regan tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. Cautiously, he entered the mansion. Lamps were lit and smoking everywhere. He shouted for Stephan and was not surprised when he didn’t answer. Something was wrong; Regan could sense it instinctively. He picked up one of the lamps and walked around the ground floor, his eyes alert. When he entered the library the sight made him draw in his breath.

  The floor was still wet from the scrubbing Frau Holtz had given it, and he only needed to see the carelessly tossed rapiers on the desk to become suspicious. Upon closer examination, he found bloodstains on the draperies and dark vermillion specks spattered on several papers strewn on the desk.

  His booted foot slipped. Bending over, he picked up a thick nail. Frowning, he let his eyes circle the room. The library even held the metallic smell of blood.

  A knot of fear settled in his gut as he raced through the first-floor rooms. All were empty. His search of the second floor convinced him that Sirena and Stephan had done battle.

  A growing sinking feeling crept through Regan. Stephan was a master of fencing. His reputation was known far and wide. Sirena had grown weak being out of practice. Stephan had the advantage. Sirena! Sirena! his mind cried. Anger and vengeance filled his chest and constricted his heart. He would kill Stephan with his own bare hands if Langdon had harmed one hair on Sirena’s head! The thought of Sirena inert, slain, brought shudders up his spine.

  Through one room and into another, Regan searched. Hoping, yet dreading to find Sirena. At last he came upon her bedroom and his eyes fell on the tattered nightdress and negligée tossed carelessly on the floor. Relief flooded him. From the condition of the nightdress he knew Sirena had been wearing it when she faced off Stephan. If Stephan had killed her he wouldn’t have removed her clothes and left them here on the floor as evidence. No, his mind raced. He broke into a smile. It was the other way around after all. Sirena had killed Stephan.

  Killed him and ran. But where was the body? He looked blankly at the nail still in his palm. This piece of evidence was undoubtedly linked to the missing corpse. Sirena must be riding out to sea already.

  He should have known better. What a fool he had been to think for one moment that Stephan had slain Sirena. Sirena would always live to fight another day. Sirena would always survive, with Regan or without him. The thought gnawed at him and caused him pain.

  Regan descended the steps slowly, coming to stand next to the gambler who waited outside the door. “He’s gone. There isn’t anyone in the house except a cook and a servant. Check for yourself.”

  “I saw no one leave this house except two women, a child, a young man, and a bandy-legged coachman. I know what Langdon looks like and he wasn’t with them,” the gambler said.

  “Look for yourself and if you find him, fetch me at my office. I need some sleep, so if you’ll excuse me.”

  “He won’t get away with this. He’s hiding, the coward. I’ll find him,” the man threatened.

  “You do that,” Regan answered coldly, turning up his collar against the damp morning air and turning his back on the house on King Street. If he didn’t miss his guess, a storm was brewing and London would feel the force of it before noon. Just the kind of weather Sirena loved, reveled in. It occurred to Regan that Sirena didn’t need to wait for storms to happen; she created them for herself.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The copper-bottomed Sea Spirit sliced through the churning swells as if bound for hell. Sirena stood near the bow, her feet firmly planted against the heaving deck. Soon, she would take the wheel and command her ship.

  Her eyes flicked sideways to the barrel lashed to the foremast. In a short while it would be time to hoist it overboard. Stephan deserved no more than that. He was scum, a scourge against humanity. She didn’t regret that he was dead; she only regretted she had been the one to kill him. At one time she had sworn that she would never take another life and she had reneged on that promise. There was no recourse open to her except to live with it just as she had learned to live with the other tribulations of her life.

  Her emerald eyes searched the open waters for a sign of another vesse
l. The horizon was clear; no mastheads jutted sharply from the faraway line where sea met sky. A squall was heading in on the Sea Spirit from the northeast and would engulf them within the hour. Time enough for her to take the wheel. At the proper moment Jacobus would drill holes in the sides of the wooden stave barrel and it would be tossed into the sea. No prayers would be said for this burial.

  The wind began to lift, billowing the canvas and lifting Sirena’s long, dark hair and whipping it about her face. The squall had moved in quicker than she expected and she heard Jan issuing orders for all unneeded hands to go below decks. Sirena waited, feeling her spirits lift along with the bowsprit, loving the salt tang on her face, exhilarated by the force of the elements.

  Taking her place at the wheel, the wind howled in the rigging as she steered the Sea Spirit under her close-reefed sails.

  Gigantic swells, whipped into curly white combers by the gale, rolled in continuously from the north. Spindrift flew in flakes stinging her face as she fought the wheel.

  The holocaust demanded her full attention. Hands gripping the slick, stout steering mechanism, which was nearly as tall as she, Sirena stood erect, and brazened nature. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark, spectral clouds scudding across the sky. Rain had not yet begun to pelt the decks, but it was out there, waiting. Making ready for the onslaught, she lashed herself to the wheel.

  Minutes seemed hours and hours eternities. The storm raged in full fury. Sirena was blinded by the savage downpour, but she kept the ship true to its heading. Her body was battered by the elements; her hair beat against her face and twisted about her neck like insistent, strangling fingers. When physical strength began to fail, an iron determination to survive became her mainstay. Nothing could stop her. Not Stephan’s death, not Regan’s rejection, not Caleb’s siding with his father against her. Nothing. She would survive by her own wits and determination just as she had always done.

  Tyler Sinclair fought his way across the deck with Willem. Their hands grasped lines and rigging as they struggled against the wind. Gaining the bow, they flanked the barrel, Stephan Langdon’s cylindrical coffin, and struggled to tip it on its side. For a moment the vessel got away from them and Tyler imagined Stephan’s body pushing out against the wooden staves and escaping the container. A horrific vision flashed through his mind as brightly and as instantly as the sudden lightning. He could almost see the body sliding on the decks, propelled by the wind and rain; almost giving it life. Gasping, taking in a mouthful of rain, Tyler choked, and grasped the barrel more firmly. Stephan Langdon would not haunt this ship! Not if he, Tyler, had to drown to make certain of it.

  Willem grunted from the weight, his body fighting the strain and the elements. Turn by turn, they rolled the barrel to the rail, cursing the weather and their own clumsiness. Soaked through to the skin, the deluge plastering their hair to their heads in dark slabs, they hefted one side of the cask and tipped it upright. Without a final prayer or ceremony, the barrel went over the side and Stephan Langdon rested in the watery depths amid the crashing waves and the thundering sky. Ominous and deadly were the elements and a fitting graveyard for one who had been both. Sirena shouted for Tyler to go below; the deck of the Sea Spirit in a storm was no place for a landlubber.

  The ship heaved with the force of the swells, the masts groaned with the weight of the saturated rigging. Rhythmically, the Sea Spirit rose and fell as she rode the turbulent waves. Sirena guided the vessel from the trough to the crest of each swell. For moments she would balance dizzily on the crest, then plunge steeply into the next trough. Each time she rode up onto the next crest, she became buoyant and invincible.

  The weather held as the Sea Spirit and the crew made headway into Waterford’s port. Under Frau Holtz’s protests about being halfway around the world in Java, Sirena consented that she and Wren should return to Cádiz and set up residence in the Valdez house on Via Arpa.

  Preparations were underway, packing, letter-writing and instructions that Frau Holtz should contact Señor Arroya immediately upon arriving. The Frau and Wren might have several weeks’ delay in booking passage on a ship bound for Cádiz so plans were made for Tyler to go to Waterford with the Frau and Wren and visit several acquaintances he had there. He was certain they would see to their welfare until passage could be secured to Cádiz.

  Tears glistened in the elderly woman’s eyes as she descended the ladder to solid ground on Waterford’s wharf. Wren threw her arms around Sirena, stifling the sobs which choked her. Sirena forced herself to remain composed and quickly kissed the young girl on the cheek with the promise to see her soon.

  “Mevrouw,” Frau Holtz called from quayside, “when will we see you in Cádiz?” When Sirena did not reply, the housekeeper reached put an arm in entreaty. The iron-gray head shook as she read the expression in Sirena’s eyes. The Frau said nothing, turning with Wren and following Tyler to the harbor master’s office.

  Sadness pricked Sirena’s sea-green eyes. You know me too well, Frau Holtz, she cried silently. Thank you for turning away. If you hadn’t, I would have leaped over the rail after you. Vaya con Dios, good friend.

  She started for her cabin, barking several orders at her crew to lay in stores and fresh water. They would sail out on the evening tide. The crew hastened to do her bidding. To a man, they agreed the only thing in this world they could not stand was to see tears in their Capitana’s eyes.

  Shortly before sundown, Sirena awoke from her brief nap. She ate sparingly of the food Jacobus set before her and then went out on deck. Tyler was just returning from the city.

  When he climbed aboard, he went directly to Sirena, answering her unspoken question. “The Frau and Wren have been settled in with friends of my family. They’re delighted to have them. It’s been some while since they had a child to pamper. There’s a ship leaving for Cádiz within the week, but I preferred them to sail on the packet leaving ten days from now. I thought you would want them to be among missionaries going to Africa, rather than take a chance on their traveling with a motley crew of mercenaries.”

  “Thank you, Tyler, it is exactly as I would wish.” Her voice was low and husky. “We sail on the evening tide. Three hours should see us out of Irish waters.”

  It would be none too soon for Tyler, who remembered, even if Sirena did not, that English law reigned supreme here in Ireland and they would be just as subject to English justice as they would have been in London.

  Shortly before nine o’clock the Sea Spirit slid out of her berth. The sea was calm and the fugitives followed the path of the Moon.

  Late that night Tyler came on deck and, to his surprise, found Sirena leaning over the stern, watching the wake created by the ship’s rudder. He had been hoping for an opportunity to talk with her and was glad to find her alone.

  “Sirena,” he called softly, interrupting her thoughts. She turned to face him, and from the glint in her eyes he could see she had been weeping.

  “What is it, Tyler? It’s very late, I thought you would be bunked down.”

  “I wanted to discuss that little arrangement we made. I’ve decided it was unfair of me to ask you to embark on a career of piracy. I’ve changed my mind; I don’t think I could go through with it. That last time, it wasn’t our fault Regan’s ship was sunk. We really did nothing more than salvage the cargo from going down with her.

  Sirena smiled. “I thought you would see it that way, Tyler. In fact, I was certain you would.”

  “Then we can go back and get Frau Holtz and little Wren!”

  “No, Tyler, that is the one thing we cannot do. I don’t want them associated with me until I know I am clear of what I did to Stephan. They’re safer sailing to Cádiz without me. As for you, you can always go back to London after we reach Spain. Who knows, Tyler, luck may be with you and you will cross paths with pirates? They are one breed of fish I consider fair game. You may have your fortune yet.”

  The Sea Spirit rode her southern course, and shortly before twilight a few days later, a c
ry was raised from the crew. “Sail ho!”

  “Where away?” Sirena answered, rushing out onto the deck from her cabin near the stern.

  “Breaking the horizon coming from the west,” came the reply.

  “Keep to course, and as she runs in, tell me what flag she wears.”

  As Sirena and the seamen kept their eyes peeled to the west, they cursed the darkness which was rapidly falling, obscuring the arrival except for its outline against the blackening sky.

  “Man the guns,” Sirena said softly, “I don’t like the looks of her. Let her pass unmolested, but ready yourselves.”

  As Tyler peered, his eyes focused on a pinpoint of light coming from the bow lantern of the distant ship. He was apprehensive. Sirena had warned that pirates and soldiers of fortune peppered the well-traveled shipping lanes, seeking easy victims. Jan had loaded the starboard gun and the wind blew a haze of powder Tyler’s way, burning his eyes and stinging his nostrils.

  Coughing and sputtering, he moved upwind of the gun and concentrated on the western horizon.

  Sirena and her crew were tense. They, too, were aware that this spectral vessel could be manned by pirates. Silence fell over the crew and Jacobus made a last tour of the ship to be certain no lanterns were lit, giving away their positions.

  The sky was totally black now. Just as the darkness shrouded the oncoming ship from the Sea Spirit, so was the sleek, copper-bottomed brig hidden from it.

  They could feel the presence of the other ship even though they could not see it. Jacobus studied the sky, hoping for the stars to light the scene, yet dreading that they might, and reveal the Sea Spirit’s position. Sirena changed course to southeasterly, hoping to outrun the pursuer.

  All eyes fastened to the west and, suddenly, they saw a flare not a quarter of a mile away. A lamp was being held aloft and circling to starboard. The mystery ship had found the winds to her advantage and had gained on the Sea Spirit more quickly than they could have imagined. The ship was so close that Sirena could almost make out the features of the seaman who signaled with the lamp.