Who was she protecting by remaining quiet about her rendezvous with Silvestri?
A sharp pain rose between her eyes, heralding the advent of a headache. With a curse, she threw on some clothes and left the room. Deserted streets might be the cure she needed.
Hours later, she sat on the sea wall, staring out at the stars. They touched the horizon, the night was that dark. A world with no air pollution or electric lights to obscure the night sky.
Her headache faded, but her heart felt raw. She wiped at a tear trailing down her face.
She wasn’t lying to the Quill about Silvestri. She simply wasn’t talking about her meetings with him. She wasn’t ashamed; she didn’t want to hurt them.
Oh, hell.
She bowed her head and let the tears fall. She was terribly confused.
Did it count if you lied to a delusion?
The sun rose while she trudged back to her room, still without answers. When she rejoined the Quill, she answered questions about the dyers with some bitterness. Her ill humor registered with the rest.
Janey poked at her. “Because they were idiots, don’t mean you have to be.”
Emily almost snapped back at the vibrant woman, but held her tongue. She straightened her back and took a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I barely slept last night and it was disappointing, how nasty they were.”
“They’re mostly Frenchman—they were born nasty,” Tink commented from the stairs, where she used an extremely wicked looking knife to carve on a bit of wood. “Surprised they even offered you anything. Most unlike them.”
“They only wanted two ledgers. I doubt they even kept them. They probably sold them.” Emily tried to answer the comment without a lie. Maybe Silvestri paid them. He might have!
“They wanted something more than ledgers. You do good work, but ledgers can be purchased other places. You use your flower dye on the ones you made them?” Tink asked her, tilting her head at the wood in her hand.
Emily paused to think a minute. Did she?
“Yeah, I did. But they know the flowers—even showed me how they got a weak green from certain leaves. I doubt they cared about that.”
Trying not to lie directly proved difficult.
“Well, you’ll find out eventually why they agreed to it.” Tink sheathed her knife and threw the wood to Emily. “What do you think?”
Emily held it up, squinting. Tink was an excellent wood carver, but her subjects sometimes were hard to figure out. She turned the slender bit of wood in her hand and suddenly realized what she held. She grinned.
“A prick knife? This is quite cool. I like how you actually caught the bulbous tip and yet made it sharp.” She tossed it back to Tink. “If there were mail here, it would make a great letter opener.
Tink tossed it back to her. “For you. Seems to be the only prick you’ll touch.”
Emily froze, struck to the bone by Tink’s comment. The blood rushed to her face, and she fought not to retort with the news that her lover saw her well acquainted with his prick, thank you very much!
Janey must have read her stillness as hurt and quickly jumped in. “You sample enough prick for twelve sailors, Tink. Pawes can be particular if she chooses. When she’s ready, she’ll find someone.” She turned her back on the sharp-tongued quartermaster and linked her arm with Emily. “We’re heading back to Nassau. The tailors should be done with our outfits. We can shop for accessories and leave for Tortuga after.”
Emily allowed herself to be led off, gripping the prick knife tightly. Tink was a bitch.
Two days later they sailed through a small storm, delaying their arrival at Nassau. They would have to raise every sail to reach Tortuga in time to peruse the shops before the party.
Emily faced the tailor while he spread his hands in apology. “Merci! I am sorry! My assistant made the mistake, Madam! Your blouse is done and it is quite lovely, I assure you. But it is already speeding its way to Tortuga. Take this.”
He handed her a folded bit of paper. “The blouse will be at this location. My friend, Mr. Reibe will see the mistake on the invoice and hold it, waiting to return it to me. This note will see him hand it over to you!”
Janey held up her finished dress, beaming at the lovely mix of green and gold the man put together for the skirt portion. “Don’t worry, Pawes! You can pick it up in Tortuga and get a skirt at the same time. Mr. Reibe has a nice shop.”
“Yes! Yes! He does! Madam, you’ll be pleased, I assure you!” He bowed and backed away, turning to help another customer.
Emily swallowed her disappointment. She never had good luck with special orders. Looked like this bit of reality followed her into insanity.
They returned to the ship and raised sail for Tortuga.
He wouldn’t be there, she knew. He wouldn’t risk facing Mick’s anger, real or not.
She unpacked her bag from St. Marteen, searching for the perfume bottle Silvestri gave her. He’d carefully shown her how to seal it back up the morning they’d returned to port. She pulled out the bag her mirror normally rested in, only to discover it was gone. A stiff bit of paper had been inserted in the bag to hold the shape.
“Those fuckers!” she hissed. “God damned dyers! I’ll sic him on them! Must be that Monsieur Pannsil!” She’d been careful but he’d seen the mirror despite her care. She’d pulled it out to see on how badly a splash of dye marred her breeches, and the mirror stowed in a pocket. She shouldn’t have check it while he stood there. Damn it! He’d asked about it, and she’d hidden it deep in her bag afterward.
He’d tried to buy it from her!
“That prig nosed bastard, son of a diseased camel!”
“You all right?” A soft knock came at her cabin door.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, took the step and half to the door and opened it.
Davis stood there, looking concerned.
“I’m fine. Only found something missing from my bag. Probably one of the dyers. I’ll see if I can get it back next time we’re on St. Marteen, but it pisses me off!” She stepped outside the cabin. “Join me in a drink?”
“Of course. You’re not missing one of your knives, I hope?” He followed her to the galley. She reassured him that her knives were safe and secure. She managed to fend off questions about what was missing.
She didn’t lie.
Chapter Seventeen
He waited for her at the dressmaker’s shop. Mr. Reibe expressed pleasure at receiving the business, even at the last minute. He’d taken the blouse and used it to create something sublime. Silvestri paid well for the dress. The shoes he pulled out of his stash on the Immortal. He’d known long ago these were special, and once he’d touched Emily’s feet, he knew why he’d hidden them away.
He’d seen the Quill sail in an hour ago. The Immortal set anchor several miles away. Ascertaining that Captain Jezebel’s favorite shops were much further down the hill, he’d set up in the back of this shop to wait.
The Immortal left him the day before and he’d used his time well. After the party, he’d leave and seek out Glacious. But these two days would be spent watching Pawes smile.
When she strode into the shop, one of the workers signaled him of her arrival. He heard the prearranged argument start. Mr. Reibe shouted he had nothing of hers here! That bastard on St. Marteen most likely stole her fabric, or ruined it and tried to fob the mistake off on him. She tried to stay calm—her voice didn’t rise to argue with him.
Alan exited from the back and moved to the front, entering while she grew angry. He liked seeing the color in her cheeks.
“Listen, you jerkwad! I need something to wear tomorrow. I don’t care who fucked up, you show me something or I’ll send Mick from the Quill up here to perch on your porch and drive away every customer from here to next Tuesday!”
Interesting threat. Would Mick do that for her? The idea pricked him. No, Jezebel would have Mick’s balls in a satin bag if he played around on her.
He cleared his throat, entering the s
hop. She didn’t see him at first. Mr. Reibe looked over her shoulder at him, and she spun, still shouting, “Deal with me, you weasel.” She saw him and stopped, obviously shocked. “Oh, it’s you. No, wait, you can’t be here! What are you doing here?” She blinked at him, the rhythm of her rant interrupted.
“I often shop here, Mrs. Pawes. Has Mr. Reibe done something to anger you?”
“Between him and the twit on St. Marteen, they’ve lost my blouse! Now what will I wear to the party?” She took a step closer to him. “You can’t be here. The Quill is in port,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“I know that. And I know how to stay out of the way. I heard your voice while walking by, Mrs. Pawes. I’m certain Mr. Reibe will find a garment for you before tomorrow night. Yes, Mr. Reibe?” He raised his eyebrows, and as arranged, the tailor took a step back and bowed, babbling apologies.
Silvestri took Emily’s arm. “Come, we’ll return tomorrow, and you will look spectacular, I’m sure.”
She sighed and took his arm.
Once outside, she nervously examined the street, her eyes darting down the road, tilting her head as if she could see around corners. “Honestly, you can’t know where he’ll wander!”
“But I can. Mick is quite habitual with his haunts. Jezebel will visit Madam Monteverdi’s shop, dragging him along. He’ll act bored, but secretly enjoy watching her play with the scarves and hats. She’ll haul from store to store, ending up at the Orange Tabby for a meal, then the Barmy Cock for drinks.”
She tilted her head, fascinated with the details. The commentary wound down and she shook her head. “You know him terribly well. You know both of them. How?”
“Spies,” he said. “Now, since I have you until tomorrow. I want to show you a special place. I’m sure they won’t miss you on the Quill. Too excited about the party tomorrow. Come with me?”
Emily sighed. “Might as well. It’s getting hard to lie to them. At least if I’m with you, I don’t have to try. You are certain he can find something for me to wear by tomorrow? It seems like everyone is flooding the dress shops. I was surprised to see this one empty.”
“Most of his work is special order, and the madness is in the back room right now.” He would address why she was lying to the extent that it burdened her. Later. Once they were at his retreat.
***
Why did finding herself following him into the hills above Tortuga bring her peace? She’d actually been relieved to see him. The conflicts between the person she once was and the person now living in her skin quieted with him nearby. When he led, she trailed behind with questions badgering her brain.
Good thing she’d left Janey in the store near the docks shopping for jingle-jangles, as the bosun termed them.
Emily paused and took a deep breath. “Alan? Will Mr. Reibe tell Janey who I left with? She was going to join me after doing some shopping near the docks.”
He turned to study her, offering a hand as they approached a steep step. “No, every shopkeeper knows to keep my business quiet. He’ll say you left, still searching for your blouse.”
“Good. They never ask me where I am or who I stay with. I’m thankful, but I don’t understand. Aren’t they curious?”
She would be.
He shrugged. “I’m sure they are, but sailors treasure privacy. If they want it for themselves, they learn to be circumspect with others.” He paused before continuing; his hand touched her cheek. “Captain Jezebel has sources, Mrs. Pawes. She knows you meet a lover. It depends on how observant her spies are, whether they have identified me.”
“Oh, shit.” She shivered. “If Jezebel knew wouldn’t she throw me off the ship? Or tell Mick? Warn me?”
“Captain Jezebel is an intelligent woman. She’s been here over twenty-five years, and Mick means a great deal to her. She wouldn’t risk him. She obviously considers you intelligent enough to make your own decisions.”
“If she knows it’s you, then she’d keep Mick away. I get that.” Her uncertainty made it difficult to enjoy the scenery. They’d climbed quite a distance. She noticed how the streets emptied into valleys that trickled down like streams to the port below. She expected trees, but the slope they climbed ran up a rocky area.
“Is this the lie that concerns you?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter to them, Emily. I am no danger to them. I am not their enemy.”
“Mick.” She spoke his name with some reluctance. “He was the first to befriend me. He found me when I woke up and didn’t know where I was. Because of him, I ended up on the Quill. I owe him honesty, Alan.”
“No, you owe him the same as Jezebel owes him when it comes to me. To keep him safe from his personal obsession. Finding me would only bring him in reach of my curse.” He smiled slightly. “The single person you hurt with this lie, as you term it, is yourself. Let it go.”
She met his eyes and read comfort there. He wanted her to trust that he knew what was best with all of this. She wanted to believe him, but it battled with old messages regarding lies. Lies were always the wrong path to take. She’d always prided herself on being truthful. To be honest, truthful to the point of lacking any real tact. But this was different. She thought it was different. With a sigh, she looked up the path. “How much farther?”
“Not far. There is food, shelter. My secret retreat, Mrs. Pawes.”
“Seemed like a fairly public path.” She tilted her head at him, a sudden suspicion grew. “You screwed with the tailor, didn’t you? Manipulated this entire scenario. Is my blouse there? I need to get it back, or I’ll be wearing breeches with it instead of a skirt.” She turned to head back.
Sure, it was nice to know she was wanted, but his single-purposed mind kept interfering with things she’d set herself to do. Like find the portal and regain her sanity. Return to Vallejo.
His arm swept around her. “Yes. I made this happen. But it’s part of my curse. Events fall to my advantage. Do you truly regret my interference? I am part of your destiny. Give me this night. One more night and from tomorrow forward, it is your move.”
“Unless your curse dictates events, Captain Silvestri.” She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling the full weight of her fifty-three years. Gods, how she wanted to lean back into his embrace and give up. Would one more night hurt?
He kissed the top of her head, then gazed into her eyes. “Come with me, and I will devour you—serve your body as a feast to mine. All I have done in the past, I will do once more. We will continue this voyage of sensual delight. You will grow hoarse, shouting obscenities into the night.” His hand rose to cup her right breast; one thumb brushed the piercing.
She quivered and felt his touch sink through her, straight to the juncture of her legs. Heat pooled; her nipples ached as they hardened. Her lips opened, and she moaned at the pictures he’d painted in her head.
More than desire dictated her agreement to go with him. She wanted to sleep in his arms. To feel the mysteries she could not define. Sensations that were terrible with sweetness and warmth.
No, one more night would not hurt.
She nodded, eyes locked on his.
For a moment, she detected relief. His shoulders sank a fraction of an inch, his eyelids relaxed. He swept down, bending his head to capture her lips and press home his advantage. A hand rose to squeeze her breast even as his tongue pushed into her mouth to claim her attention. All rational thought disappeared. He lifted her into his arms, released her mouth, turned and continued up the hill.
If she was insane, she was going to enjoy it.
He’d been right; it wasn’t far. Not ten minutes later, he set her down in front of a small building, set into a rocky crevice. She looked around while he opened the door. Turning, she surveyed an incredible view. He’d chosen a site with an impressive vista. Directly downslope from their climb, at least two miles away, the city of Tortuga sprawled.
She wasn’t a historian, but she seemed to recall that the historical island was small, round and nothing like where she stood.
Haiti should be in view, but it wasn’t. The bay where this city rested was broad, a near perfect crescent with horns close to meeting. She assumed that guaranteed a safer harbor, hard to attack.
Though with vampires about, she doubted attack was a problem.
To the right the island spread to another shore of the Caribbean. Maybe that was the beach where the Quill anchored the day Tink led her over the peninsula. Was it one of the crescent horns of the bay?
Looking that direction, another island barely showed in the distance.
“Where is that?” she asked Silvestri. He stood at her side, joining her in contemplating the view.
“Jamaica. An extremely clear day. Normally it wouldn’t be visible.”
“Where is Haiti? I’ve never looked at a map while on the Quill. I guess I should have.”
“I’m not familiar with that name.” He gestured past the city. “That way lays Hispaniola, a Spanish settlement.”
“Maybe the French never colonized here.”
“The French?” He chuckled. “No, the French have colonies, but small and sparsely populated. They tend to inhabit areas already civilized, like St. Marteen.” He turned. “Now, come see my hideaway.”
She followed him into the simple home.
***
He waited for her to say something about how plain it was, to compare it to his cabin on the Immortal. But she said nothing, just wandered around the one room, lightly touching items.
She paused to read the titles on the books. Most were volumes of fairy and folk tales. He’d collected them over fifty years of sailing. Was that a smile dancing across her face? She chuckled, stopping to extract one book. He knew that one.
“Where in the world did you find an illustrated Joy of Sex?” She shook her head. “Evidently a lot of interesting things fall through the cracks between my world and yours.”
“Many more than you can imagine.” He pulled a chair off a hook on the wall and sat. “Emily, there is more here than from only your time and world.”
She froze, set the book back and slowly turned to face him. Groping for the bed, she sat, staring at him. “Other times?”
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