The peaceful cove was a haven . . . for now. Fury leaned on the railing and stared across the moonlit water. She could still change her mind if she wanted to. She could forget about the impostor riding the seas and Luis Domingo as well. She could even go back to Spain. So many choices. . . .
Suddenly the hawks grew restless from their position on the mizzenmast, and Fury picked up the sound on the water at the same moment. A boat was headed their way.
The boat was small and crowded, the occupants’ whispers carrying across the water. Immediately Fury dropped the rope ladder over the side of the ship. All but Juli climbed aboard.
“I’ll secure this vessel at the deepest end of the cove,” Juli called up. “Good luck.”
Fury’s heart pounded as she greeted Juli’s brothers. All were young, agile, and in the darkness she was unable to read their expressions. She called out to Juli, her voice betraying the anxiousness she was feeling. “Juli, how much did you tell them . . . what are their feelings . . . what did their wives . . . Juli, you can’t leave me like this and not . . . ”
Juli closed the distance between the Rana’s bow and the jolly boat she was in. “They are not afraid, if that’s what you want to know, Miss Fury. They are big, hulking men, as you can see, and even if they were afraid, they’d never voice their fears in front of a woman. We have their wives to thank for allowing them to sail with you. They understand what it is you are doing. I gave away no secrets, if that is what you are fretting over, although one would have to be very stupid not to know what is going on. The less voiced the better. I will tell you this: they fear those damnable birds.”
“Gaspar and Pilar!” Fury said in a shocked voice. “But they won’t harm your brothers. Speaking of harm, Juli, each day that goes by, there are more and more people who know . . . for years this was the best-kept secret in the world, and now all seven of your brothers know, Father Sebastian knows, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Luis Domingo knows, not to mention the imposter who roams the seas.”
Juli’s voice turned thick with displeasure. “My brothers, to a man, will swear allegiance to you. There is no one else who can be trusted. If you are having second thoughts, now is the time to voice them,” she growled.
“No, no, I guess I’m just nervous. It will be light very soon and time to sail.”
“Godspeed,” Juli called over her shoulder. “I’ll pray for your safe return.”
Fury turned to face her crew. They were clean and freshly shaved, and had curious, honest eyes. Immediately, Fury regretted her words to Juli. They were there to help her. All were young but none as young as herself. All were married with children, Juli had told her several days earlier. The wages she would pay them would not make them rich but would make their lives more comfortable. None of them seem surprised at her scanty costume, and none were leering at her. She felt safe and realized one source of her anxiety was gone. Now it was time for business.
If her crew of seven felt uneasy, it wasn’t noticeable to Fury as the Rana skimmed out of the cove beneath her sure, if unpracticed, hands—down the winding river, over the white-capped breakers, and ... into open water. She hadn’t expected such a rough sea, and it took all her strength to hold the frigate steady. Above her she could see Gaspar and Pilar, sentinels on the mizzenmast, their jet eyes on the rolling breakers. Over and over she told herself that she was the Rana’s master.
Two hours later a wild wind started to blow in from the west, signaling an impending storm. Excitement coursed through Fury as she gripped the wheel. She felt Gaspar and Pilar swoop down to perch on the high-backed chair that was bolted to the floor, their talons digging into the heavy mahogany. Their presence gave Fury renewed strength. If she could bring the Java Queen safely into port, she could certainly ride the Rana through any rough weather.
The course she plotted was one of pure instinct, one she felt a man such as Luis Domingo would follow. If she was wrong, she’d have to live with her mistake. She hoped that Father Sebastian’s information was accurate. She had to assume that the Spaniard would set sail in one of the Dutch East India’s brigantines, which would give her a definite advantage. If she was mistaken—if he was sailing a frigate much like her own—he would be making top speed. She had to outmaneuver as well as outguess him.
Where would he head? If there was a storm, the brigantine wouldn’t heave to under a reefed main topsail. Instinct told her the Spaniard would take the northern shore to reach Sumbawa while she was following a course along the southern shore of Java. Most likely he’d head for the shore off the island where the last Dutch East India ship was attacked. Weather and speed permitting, she could rendezvous there with the angry sea captain. Bali, she decided, the most beautiful island off Java’s eastern tip, was his destination. Now it was hers as well.
The storm was savage in its intensity, but of short duration. Fury rode it out under her own prowess, the crew cheering her on. When she turned the wheel over to Mandu, Juli’s oldest brother, there was open admiration in his eyes. “Well done, Capitana.” Fury beamed her pleasure at his words. Her mother’s old crew had called her capitana, too. “I’d be obliged, Capitana, if you’d take . . . your feathered friends with you,” Mandu added uneasily.
Fury laughed and snapped her fingers. The birds spread their wings with a loud swish before they sailed upward among the rigging. Mandu turned his head to look over his shoulder.
“Think of them as being on our side, our protectors, not just my own,” Fury suggested, smiling. “As long as you do nothing to alarm them in regard to me, they are quite docile.”
Mandu gave a brief nod. “Aye, Capitana.”
Out on deck, Fury called for all hands. “We did well, men,” she told them. “Another day, and if my predictions are right, we should meet up with our quarry. Bali would be my first thought, but he may make Sumbawa, depending on his headwinds. For now we’ve earned a brief rest.” She turned away, dismissing her small crew. “I’ll be in my cabin.”
Down below she grinned gleefully. Shorthanded as they were—a frigate generally required a crew of at least twelve—they’d done better than she had a right to expect. Good men, a good captain, and a good ship were all that was needed. Now she could relax for a moment.
On deck, the crew whispered among themselves. For a woman, this young lady had handled the frigate as well as any man. For once their sharp-tongued sister had been correct in her assertions. All they had to do now was secure the ship and allow the warm trade winds to spur them onward.
Ten hours later a cry of “Sail ho!” came from the rigging. The spyglass was in Fury’s hands in a moment.
“Does she sport a Dutch flag?” she shouted.
“Aye, Capitana, and she’s tightened sail. She’s spotted us. Her captain is on the stern.”
“All hands on deck! Mandu, steer this ship directly broadside.” To the others she shouted, “I want no shots fired until I give the order. We aren’t here to fight. Do you understand?”
Never in her life had she experienced such excitement. Her heat thundered in her chest and her pulses thrummed. Something niggled at her, some little-known thing she should have done and now couldn’t remember. . . . Lord, of course, the lip and cheek color!
In the blink of an eye she raced to her cabin and dabbed from the little pot Juli had added to her satchel at the last moment. It was Juli who remembered her mother scrubbing the vermilion paint from her cheeks on her return.
Back on deck, Fury raced to the bow of the ship. Feet firmly planted and slightly apart, her hair billowing behind her, she waited, a smile on her face.
“Remember now, veer off at the last moment,” she called to her crew. “I want the captain to think we’re going to attack, until the very last second. She’s loosening sail. The men are in the shrouds. I can see them unfurling the sail! We have only a few moments of daylight left. We’re almost broadside!”
As the last vestige of daylight relinquished its hold on the dark gray of early night, Fury felt h
er hand caressing the hilt of the cutlass at her side.
Luis Domingo, captain of the China Jewel, stood on the stern, his face full of shock at the figure of the woman outlined in the murky yellow light. Cutlass in hand, she made a low, mocking bow in his direction.
“We mean you no harm, señor, unless it is your intention to fire upon us,” she called to him.
He should give the order to fire; he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t. He knew his men were ready and waiting for this female witch to make some move that would warrant an attack. He also knew the Jewel could not outrace the sleek black frigate. So he waited, his dark eyes narrowed to slits. “We carry no cargo; this is a scouting voyage only,” he called.
“I’m not interested in your cargo, señor. I’ve been tracking you since you left port. Take a good look at me, señor!” Fury ordered. “I am not the pirate who plundered the Silver Lady! You were mistaken, and I demand an apology.”
“You’ll get no apology from me, you sea slut,” Luis snarled. “You robbed my cargo. I saw you, I talked to you. No woman makes a fool of me!”
“You’ll regret those words, you miserable Spaniard!” Fury cried. She didn’t stop to think. She was a whirlwind of motion as long legs flexed and then leapt. In a split second she was aboard the China Jewel, the tip of the cutlass pointed six inches below the Spaniard’s belt.
Stunned, Luis stepped backward, followed by the scantily clad woman wielding her cutlass. “I could kill you this very second,” Fury said, her voice ominously quiet. “All it would take is one downward stroke. But I told you I meant you no harm. You should have believed me.”
She inched closer, the cutlass secure in her hand. “Listen to me carefully, señor. I never killed for the sake of killing. I never plundered for my own benefit. My reign on the sea was a cause, and when that cause was laid to rest, I retired. Until today I have not been aboard that frigate out there for twenty years, nor have I attacked any ships.”
“Then how do you explain the Dutch East India’s brigantine?” Luis snapped.
“She was beset by an impostor, as were you. I don’t know who, or why this . . . this person chooses to masquerade as the Sea Siren, but I shall find out.”
Fury took a step backward and lowered the cutlass a fraction. “And now,” she said mockingly, “I believe I came aboard for a reason . . . an apology. Proceed, Captain.” When Luis remained silent, she whipped up the cutlass to slice the buttons from his shirt, then returned it to point directly at his groin. “I’m losing patience, señor.”
Grim-faced, Luis shook his head. “No apology, Sea Siren, not from my lips. I know what I saw, I know what I experienced. What you say may or may not be true; I am, however, willing to concede your point—if you will but show me your arm.”
Fury drew away, startled and at a sudden loss for words. At that moment there was a loud, swooshing noise from above. Both Fury and Luis looked up in time to see Gaspar and Pilar swoop down, then soar upward again, their wings rustling as they circled the Spaniard in a menacing orbit.
“What the goddamn living hell is that?” Luis shouted as he doubled over.
Fury laughed. “That, señor, is called retribution. Those birds can kill you as quickly as I can. Right now they’re quite angry, as you can see. If I ever hear you or your crew refer to me as a sea slut again, I’ll unleash them on you so fast, your head will spin.”
Luis observed the circling hawks for a moment or two, then returned his gaze to Fury, eyes glinting with rage. “Another time, another place, Siren, and we’ll face off again.”
“On your knees, señor!” To the birds, Fury called, “Watch him till I’m back aboard.”
Luis stared, mesmerized, as incredibly long legs leapt high above him. He sucked in his breath when she landed gracefully aboard the black frigate. The sound of her laughter raised the hackles on the back of his neck.
“Admit it, señor, I outmaneuvered you!” she called, offering a salute with the tip of the cutlass.
“Never!” he cried passionately. “I could have drilled you broadside. But I was in a charitable mood.”
Again Fury’s laughter tinkled across the water. Her crew as well as Domingo’s knew she was the victor, no matter what he said.
The hawks swooped down with deadly intent, only to sail upward in their own wake as Fury called, “Enough!” He watched in amazement as both birds flew into the black ship’s rigging.
Until this moment he’d been unaware of the fog rolling in. Even now it shrouded his decks, creeping upward. All he could see of the woman aboard the black frigate was the diamond garter twinkling in the misty light. Then . . . nothing. She always disappears into the mist, the old sea salt had said.
A long time later, a tankard of ale in his hand, he asked his first mate, Julian, for his opinion. “Was it the same woman?”
Julian frowned. “I don’t recall seeing that diamond garter on the woman who attacked the Queen, and I know there were no birds. . . .”
“What about the first time, when she attacked the Spanish Princess. Did you see a garter or those damnable birds then?”
“It was so long ago, Captain, and my memory isn’t what it used to be. The birds I would remember, but the garter, I’d have to say no. Women . . . acquire baubles and wear them at a whim. It’s possible she confiscated it from somewhere. She is more beautiful than I remember. The red lips and cheeks I remember, and those long legs
. . . aye, Captain, a beautiful woman.” “How old do you think she is?” Luis asked.
“You would be a better judge of that than I, Captain. Young, I’d say.”
Luis’s brows knitted in thought. “No more than twenty, I’d say. The real Siren would be in her fortieth year or thereabouts.” He threw up his hands in disgust. “Women!”
“You saw the scar?” Julian asked.
“No, but it’s my gut feeling it’s there. She must be real, she has to be real.”
“Flesh and blood?” Julian demanded fearfully.
“As real as you and I. I could feel her breath on my face. I want her,” Luis growled.
“As does every man jack aboard this ship,” Julian said. “She’s a devil angel if ever there was one. She strikes the fear of God in me, I can tell you that.”
Luis sat alone for the rest of the night, secure in the knowledge that his ship was in Julian’s capable hands. He searched his mind for ways he could have reacted differently, things he could have said and done. She hadn’t exactly made a fool of him, but she’d definitely had the advantage. Only a fool would have attacked the odds once she boarded the Jewel.
Beautiful honey-colored legs, eyes that were more blue than the sky. So very beautiful, more beautiful than any woman he’d ever met. Strong, capable, sense of humor. Her remembered laughter sent chills up his arms. His last thought before retiring to his cabin was that this was one woman not to be taken lightly. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered once again what it would be like to make love to the exquisite sea creature.
In her bunk Fury lay still, trying to stem the trembling that threatened to overtake her. It was over; she had successfully carried off her plan. She truly believed she was the victor, although no battle had been waged and no blows struck for either side.
Not until dawn was she able to give definition to what she was feeling: her blood was singing, and all because of Luis Domingo.
Chapter Eight
Saianha
Amalie leaned against the cave opening, her pose one of nonchalance. It was backbreaking work carrying the cargoes of the many ships they’d plundered to this safe, secure cave, not that she was doing any of the work. As each crate or barrel was stored inside, she logged it in one of her father’s old ledgers. Later, when she felt it was safe, she would dispose of the goods to the highest bidder, preferably in Spain. She wondered idly when and how much; she had no idea what the contents of the cave would yield in the way of money. She also had to allow for the crew’s share. No matter, it was close to a fortune.
The note she’d made in the margin of the ledger irritated her. In order to transport the contents of the cave to a ready market, she would need a brigantine, perhaps a galleon, possibly two. There was no way she could purchase the ships, since she had no ready money and nothing to trade for them. She would have to commandeer them at some point and drive the crew overboard. But where would she secure the ships until it was time to sail for Spain?
Another problem, and one she thought about constantly, plagued her as no other. How long would her crew be content with things the way they were? Already they were grumbling about money and the risk to their lives every time they accosted a ship. For six months now she’d been able to calm them, promising them anything she could think of to ward off a mutiny. The only alternative was to kill off those who became too verbal in their complaints or demands.
Amalie logged a cask of coffee beans and another of nutmeg, the men cursing as they rolled and dragged the heavy barrels into the recesses of the cave. Tomorrow they would sail on the morning tide in hopes of overtaking a galleon with an escort of two, all heavily loaded with ivory, a prize that was unequaled among their current plunder. A prize the Dutch East India Company could ill afford to lose. Amalie smiled in the darkness. Their loss—her gain. If she could just find a safe hiding place for the galleon and brigantines, she could keep the cargoes on board and not have to go through this time-consuming ritual of loading, unloading, and logging in.
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