Captive Secrets

by Fern Michaels

Suddenly, to break the moment, Regan clapped his hands and announced a toast. “Well wishes for our daughter’s birthday!” Waiters appeared as if by magic with elaborate trays full of crystal goblets filled to the brim with sparkling champagne. A chorus of Happy Birthdays reverberated throughout the ballroom. Regan raised his hand, and once again the musicians took their places. He bowed low. “Señorita, I believe this dance is mine,” he said gallantly.

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, Sirena watched her husband and daughter trample upon each other’s feet as they whirled and twirled about the room to uproarious applause. When at last the music stopped, the dancers limped off the floor to another round of applause.

  “I think our guests are getting impatient,” Regan said, beaming down upon his lovely daughter, “so let me get your dinner partner and we’ll get things under way. I hope you don’t mind, sweetheart, but so many of your young men clamored for the honor of escorting you in that we thought it most politic to accept the invitation of Don Parish, who has volunteered his guest to do the honors. Stay right here and I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Sirena heard her daughter’s gasp and smiled. So, she mused, her daughter’s blood was capable of singing.

  Luis Domingo was as tall as Regan, broad-chested with narrow hips and well-muscled legs that strained slightly against his immaculate white linen trousers. His eyes were dark and as inky black as his hair, a lock of which tumbled over his forehead. Handsome was the only word Fury could think of as her father introduced him.

  “Furana, may I present Luis Domingo, Don Parish’s house guest. Señor Domingo, my daughter, Furana.”

  “Señorita, it is my pleasure,” said Luis, bowing low over her hand.

  Fury was unprepared for the timbre of his voice, deep and oddly compelling. Unaccountably, she blushed and withdrew her hand, averting her eyes demurely. “Bewitching,” he murmured.

  “What—I beg your pardon?” Fury stammered.

  “He said you were bewitching,” Regan said sourly.

  White teeth flashed in amusement as Luis held out his arms. Fury’s heart skipped a beat at the feel of her escort’s hard, sinewy arm. This was no boy like all the others. She wondered what Gaspar would do to this man if he kissed her.

  Domingo gazed about him at the lavish banquet tables with their rainbow-hued waterfalls. His dark eyes took in the fine crystal and silver and lace. This ball had to cost a fortune, he reflected, probably more than he earned in a year. But that would all change . . . soon. He smiled at Fury. “Forgive me for staring like a field hand, but I’ve never seen anything to equal this,” he said with a wave of his hand. He took a plate and began to fill it from among the countless delicacies spread out before them.

  “It’s my birthday.” There was a note of apology in her voice. “My parents wanted this to be an elaborate affair since it will be the last . . . what I mean is . . .”

  “You’re leaving to enter the convent tomorrow.” He nodded. “Doña Louisa explained it all to me. There’s no need for apologies—unless you’re uncertain of your vocation.”

  She flushed. “I guess I was apologizing, and no, I’m not uncertain. It’s just that we Spanish tend to do things in a grand way.” She was babbling, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Again Luis smiled at her. “But you’re half Dutch,” aren’t you?”

  Fury stared at her escort with unabashed admiration. His was a beautiful smile, endearing somehow, she thought. “Yes—I—I am half Dutch,” she roused herself to reply. “But my upbringing has been Spanish. My mother is Spanish, my father Dutch. . . .”

  White teeth flashed. “Yes, I know,” he said. With a flourish, he offered her a plate piled high with pink shrimp, squab, and lobster on a bed of rice.

  Fury stared at it with bewildered eyes. “I can’t possibly eat—”

  “I’ll help you finish it,” Luis assured her. “Doña Louisa insists that one never go to the table twice—in public. I would prefer to eat on the veranda, if it’s agreeable.”

  Obediently, Fury followed alongside him, praying Gaspar would just this once leave her alone to enjoy the attentions of such a fascinating man.

  As the couple ate, they talked of inconsequential things, the weather, the beautiful casa she lived in, the tropical flowers that scented the air, her parents.

  “I think I’ve been doing most of the talking,” Fury said at last, folding her napkin neatly beside her plate.

  Luis laughed. “It’s your birthday. I understand that once you enter your order you will take a vow of silence. This is something I cannot comprehend.”

  “You are not a religious man, then?”

  “I believe in God, if that’s what you mean, but I don’t spend all my time in church praying. Goodness must come from here.” He touched his chest.

  Fury remained silent, her eyes drawn to his hands. They were the largest she’d ever seen; she wondered if they were rough and callused. Then she looked up and found him staring at her intently, so intently that she flushed. Obviously, he was waiting for a response. “I—I believe that most people believe in God, some more than others,” she said hesitantly. “There are those who call on Him when they need something and forget about Him the rest of the time. I’ve known I was meant for the convent since I was ten or so, but I waited until now for my parents’ sake. . . . But enough about me,” she said, clapping her hands to dismiss the subject. “What do you do . . . Luis?”

  As he gazed into the depths of her blue eyes, Luis suddenly found himself wanting to tell this lovely creature everything about him . . . every secret he’d ever held close to his heart. But did he dare? And, even more to the point, would she understand? “What do I do?” he said lightly. “I turn up in unlikely places and escort beautiful ladies to dinner. . . . No, actually, I spend most of my time looking for the marauder who ruined my father’s small company—which certainly isn’t proper dinner conversation at a birthday ball.”

  Fury blinked at Luis’s startling response. She was utterly mesmerized and wanted to hear more, but . . . “I think Doña Louisa is trying to attract your attention,” she said reluctantly. “She’s usually the first to leave a party. I—I would like to thank you for your kind gesture this evening....”

  Dark eyes scalded her. “You were a damsel in distress, it was my duty.” His voice was suddenly as mocking as his countenance.

  Fury’s eyes sparked. “I didn’t realize it was such a chore—or is it that I’m going into the convent and you feel you can’t waste your time with someone who . . .”

  “Yes?” he prodded.

  “Nothing, señor,” she said stiffly. “Thank you again. I enjoyed our talk . . . for a little while.”

  Luis bowed low and then brought her hand to his lips. His dark eyes caught and held hers. “Might I ask a favor?”

  Blood rushed to Fury’s cheeks, and her heart started to pound. He was going to ask if he could kiss her. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

  “Pray for me that I find the marauder who ruined and killed my father.” An instant later he was gone, weaving his way through the clusters of people in the ballroom.

  Fury turned and ran down the veranda steps into the darkest part of the garden. She knew her cheeks were flaming; even her ears felt hot. She clutched her chest as though the movement would still her heart.

  The handsome Spaniard hadn’t wanted to kiss her. No, she had wanted him to kiss her. Now she felt shame and wished for her rosary. She would pray through the dawn, begging God’s forgiveness for her wicked thoughts, and then she would pray for Luis Domingo—not for the vengeance he sought, but for his immortal soul.

  The moment the last coach clattered down the cobblestone drive, Fury embraced her parents. “It was a wonderful party! I think everyone had a wonderful time; I know I did. Thank you so much. I’ll never forget it. Never!”

  Sirena hugged her, then pulled back to smile into her daughter’s eyes. “It’s almost dawn, darling. Why don’t you try to sleep for a little wh
ile. Your father and I are exhausted. Shall we have breakfast around nine o’clock?”

  Fury nodded. “That sounds wonderful, Mother.” She kissed both her parents and hurried off.

  In the privacy of her own room, she removed the confining gown and petticoats and laid them over the back of a chair with a weary sigh. Her jewelry was placed in a velvet-lined jewel cask, to be turned over to her mother before she left. Then, clad in a soft silken wrapper, rosary in hand, she dropped to her knees at the side of the bed and bowed her head. Her lips moved soundlessly. When, hours later, she raised her head and opened her eyes, it was full light.

  She looked around, disconcerted for a moment. A shaft of sunlight speared across the room, bathing the clock on her night table in its bright light. Fury peered at the numerals and realized she had less than thirty minutes to dress for breakfast.

  Breakfast was a tense affair: Sirena on the verge of tears; Regan grim and tight-lipped, staring at his plate.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Fury said brightly.

  “Good headwinds. The Java Queen will get off to a good start,” Regan agreed soberly. “Your mother and I made the decision for the Queen to sail with an empty hold. She’ll ride high in the water, proof that she carries no cargo. Any marauding pirates will think twice about attacking a ship without cargo. It’s for your safety, Fury. Ronrico Diaz is the best seafaring captain, next to myself, that I would trust with you and the Queen.

  “I don’t like it one damn bit that you made us both promise not to take on passengers. I know what you said, that you wanted to pray and be alone with your thoughts,” he said when he saw that his daughter was about to protest. “You’ll have the rest of your life to pray. You should have company, people to talk to, to dine with. I don’t like it one damn bit, and neither does your mother.” Frustrated, Regan banged his fist on the table, and Fury flinched.

  “I don’t give a damn about the revenues,” he continued. “I do give a damn about your sailing alone with a crew and no passengers to keep you company. It doesn’t matter if the crew is loyal and hand-picked or not. We’re giving in to your wishes because you begged us, and indulgent parents that we are, we can deny you nothing. In our hearts we know Captain Diaz will protect you with his life.”

  Fury thanked both her parents with her eyes. She smiled. “I have as much faith and trust in Captain Diaz as you do, Father. I’ve known the crew of the Queen for years. They won’t let me fall in harm’s way. I need this time alone. Please, you must tell me that you understand. Mother?”

  Sirena smiled at her daughter, tears shimmering in her eyes. “No, there’s no one better than Diaz,” she echoed.

  “Sixteen weeks will see you in Java. We’ve arranged for you to go to our house and rest before . . . Father Miguel will be waiting to personally escort you to the convent doors. It’s all been arranged. You must promise me, Fury, that you won’t deviate. . . . What I mean to say is . . .”

  Fury leaned across the table, her voice earnest yet quiet. “Mother, I’m twenty-one years old. I’ve sailed with both you and Father since I was five. I can take care of myself. Please don’t worry about me. If I remember correctly, you yourself were quite notorious at my age. And as for you, Father,” she added impishly, “what would the world think if they knew the governor of the Netherlands was married to the infamous Sea Siren?”

  “They would think I’m a very lucky man.” Regan grinned. “As far as the world knows, the Sea Siren retired long ago and was never heard of again. Sometimes I think she was a myth myself, the way she disappeared into the mist. Someday, Sirena, I want to hear how you pulled that little trick. And don’t tell me it was black magic, either.”

  Mother and daughter smiled at each other. Clearly there were some things this husband-father didn’t need to know. Theirs was a secret Fury would carry with her to her new world of silence. Sirena winked roguishly at her husband and laughed when he scowled.

  “What time will you and Father leave for the harbor?” Fury asked, watching them with affection and delight.

  “The Java Star sets sail at six o’clock. You’ll be six hours at sea by the time we get under way,” Sirena said quietly. If it weren’t for the anguish she felt over Fury, she’d be looking forward to visiting Caleb, Regan’s son by a previous marriage, along with his wife and Regan’s grandchildren. But she had little heart for the journey now.

  “Be sure to give Caleb a big kiss for me and tell Wren my prayers are with her and her brood,” Fury said brightly. “It’s going to be wonderful for you to see the children. How long will you stay?”

  Regan sent Sirena a pointed glance. “As long as your mother wants. We have no itinerary. I’ve resigned my post as governor and am now fully retired. Perhaps we’ll end up in Java at some point in the future. If we do, we’ll leave word at the convent.”

  Fury stirred spoon after spoon of honey into her coffee. They’d gone over all of this before, at least a dozen times, she thought sadly. Another hour and she would walk out the door for the last time. She dreaded the last good-bye, imagining her mother clinging to her, crying, while her father stood by, stone-faced, angry that she was deserting them. But she couldn’t help it—at last the future was hers. She would be doing what she was meant to do: serve God for the rest of her life.

  “Do you have the bishop’s letter, Fury?” Sirena asked suddenly. How many times she’d wanted to kick herself for giving her daughter that damned acceptance letter. Had she kept it, Fury would not be leaving them now.

  “Yes, Mother, and also the letter from Father Sebastian. You mustn’t worry.”

  With a bittersweet ache in her heart, Fury gazed around the breakfast room, memorizing it with her eyes. She’d always thought it the homiest of all the rooms in the casa, and it was her favorite, even over her pretty bedroom. Potted blooms in clay pots graced every boundary of the red-tiled floor. Wispy ferns hung from straw baskets near the multipaned windows, all favorites of her mother. The table and chairs, whitewashed iron with persimmon-colored cushions, were also made by her mother. She particularly loved the ancient chestnut tree, outside the wide triple window, that held Gaspar’s nest high at the top. He always knew when she was at the table and would come to perch on the sill . . . until today.

  “Mother, has Gaspar been at the window?” she asked suddenly.

  “No, he hasn’t. Perhaps the party kept him awake and he’s sleeping.” Sirena smiled wanly. It was so easy to indulge this child, she thought.

  “I don’t think Gaspar ever sleeps,” Fury said fretfully. “I think he understands that I’m leaving.” She leaned across the window seat and whistled to the huge hawk. The leaves remained quiet.

  “Maybe he’s fishing.” Regan grinned. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, he never goes far.”

  Fury smiled at her father’s small joke. She knew he was trying to keep the moment light for all their sakes, and she appreciated it. Now that she was within minutes of departing, she felt strangely at odds with herself. Knowing she might never see these beloved parents of hers again . . . Then she straightened her shoulders and willed her eyes to remain dry. This was what she wanted, had begged and pleaded to be allowed to do. She wouldn’t back down now. “I’ll just run upstairs and get my things. I heard the carriage arrive a few minutes ago. I’ll be down in a moment.”

  Fury fled the room, afraid the tears she felt burning her eyes would overflow. Upstairs, she bolted into her room and ran to the window, her handkerchief clasped to her mouth with a trembling hand. Again and again she called to the birds, but there was no response. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she craned her neck to peer high into the trees. All she could see was the umbrellalike leaves, and none of them stirred in the soft, warm morning air. “Oh, my fledglings,” she whispered, “not even to say good-bye?”

  Slowly Fury gathered her traveling cloak and vanity case. This awful feeling of suddenly being alone, deserted by the winged creatures she loved . . . she hated it. She was halfway down the long, winding staircase whe
n she stopped, eyes wide with sudden understanding. What she was feeling her parents were feeling, only more so. She was their flesh and blood, created from love. Their hearts must truly be shattering. She’d been only a temporary guardian to Gaspar and Pilar. The knowledge nearly undid her. Fighting the sob in her throat, she continued down the stairs to join her parents.

  “Let me lean on you,” Sirena whispered to her husband, devouring Fury with her eyes.

  “Only if you let me lean on you, too,” Regan whispered back.

  “Well, I’m ready,” Fury said when she reached them. “I couldn’t see Gaspar or Pilar. I guess they’re out . . . with the little ones.”

  Sirena bit down on her lower lip and was rewarded with the salty taste of her own blood. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, and by all that was holy, she wouldn’t. She didn’t want her daughter to remember her as a sniveling, cowardly weakling.

  Outside in the bright sunshine, their good-byes were brief, almost aloof. As the carriage rumbled away, Fury moaned and gave way at last to her tears, eyes fixed sightlessly on the road ahead of her. If she had been able to look back, she would have seen her mother crumple against her father’s unsteady form. But she would not have noticed Gaspar and Pilar, whose glittering eyes charted her course down the road.

  Once the carriage was out of sight, Pilar immediately took wing and headed for the basket in the chestnut tree. When Gaspar was satisfied that she was safe in the top of the tree, he spread his wings and soared high overhead.

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, Sirena pointed to the large hawk circling overhead. “He’s going to follow her, Regan. Mark my words.”

  Regan gathered his wife in his arms and stroked her dark head, his eyes on the huge bird. “How do you know this?” he asked in a shaky voice.

  “Because he loves her. She saved his life and provided for him all these years. I also have this feeling that he will not . . . let her know he’s near. I feel he’s going to take our place and . . . protect her.”