Captive Secrets

Home > Romance > Captive Secrets > Page 20
Captive Secrets Page 20

by Fern Michaels


  Everything was going according to plan; even the thick, dark clouds cooperated, sailing across the sky to give her all the cover she needed. The moment her feet touched the galleon’s deck, she crouched down, straining to make out the deck in the thick fog. One of the men jabbed his forefinger in the direction of the wheelhouse, and Amalie sprinted off in a half crouch, all senses alert to anything that might hinder her progress.

  Seconds later one of the smoke pots hissed loudly in the water, her signal for them to attack as one—and all hell broke loose.

  “All hands on deck!” the captain shouted into his horn. “To your stations! Attack! Attack!”

  Amalie smiled in the darkness as she crept behind the captain. A minute later she had his hands pinned behind his back and her arm locked around his throat. “If you want to stay alive, Captain, order your crew to cease and desist. I want these ships. If you force us to kill your men, it will be your doing.”

  The captain tried to speak, but Amalie’s arm was slowly cutting off his air supply. When he struggled, she merely increased the pressure. “Quietly, Captain, or I’ll snap your neck. Now—order them into the jolly boats.”

  “Jolly boats?” the captain rasped.

  “Of course. Do you think for one moment the Sea Siren would leave you in open water to die? I told you, I want these ships, not your lives. Make your decision now.” Amalie released her hold on the captain and thrust him forward. She watched through narrowed eyes as he picked up the horn to obey her command.

  It was all too easy, she thought suspiciously. Something was wrong. “I want to see your log,” she told him, “and then I want a roll call—on deck. And if you do anything out of the ordinary, Captain, I’ll run you through and pin you to the yardarm.”

  The captain was a fat man, his steps jerky and faltering with fear. Amalie jabbed his buttocks with the tip of her cutlass as she marched him to the quarter deck. Soon the crews from all three ships were howling their outrage at the near-naked long-legged apparition issuing orders in a voice stronger than any they’d ever heard from their own captain.

  It was a bloodless battle for the most part, with only three men of the galleon’s crew carrying slight wounds. To a man, her own crew emerged unscathed. In her excitement, Amalie searched for Cato and gave him a jaunty salute with the tip of her cutlass. “Well done!” she called. “Well done indeed.”

  “I never believed the story until now,” the captain muttered.

  Amalie turned to him with a smile. “What story is that, Captain?”

  “That you were real. There were some who said you were a legend. Once before you all but ruined the Dutch East India Company. Are you here now to finish the job?”

  Amalie merely shrugged. Let him think what he wanted. By the time he reached port—if he did—his story would be so outrageously magnified, she’d be hard-pressed to recognize it anyway.

  The captain struggled to stand at his full height. He couldn’t go over the side without one last attempt at bravado. He needed to show his crew he was not a coward. “They’ll kill you, you know. There’s a price on your head now that will increase when we reach port. The Dutch East India Company has hired a man, a crew, to ride these seas and capture you.”

  Amalie laughed. “You’re all fools! There’s no man out there,” she said, motioning to the open water with her cutlass, “who can kill me. I’m a legend. Am I real, Captain, or am I a ghost? How is it that none of my men were hurt? How is it that I captured you so easily? If I were flesh and blood, could I do all these things? Think about that when you make your report to your company’s officers.”

  The captain’s eyes bulged with fear. A spirit, a ghost? He looked around at his crew, who were eager now to go over the side. By the time he turned back to Amalie, a low bank of fog had rolled across the deck, obscuring her form within its thick, swirling tentacles. The captain reached out to her with a trembling hand, but she stepped backward, to be enveloped completely by the heavy mist. It was as if she’d never existed.

  Giving a low groan, the captain spun around and threw himself overboard. There followed splash after splash of water as his crew did the same. Amalie had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

  “Secure these ships and make ready to sail!” she hissed to her crew.

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Amalie watched the beginning of a new day from the bow of her ship, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. There was a smile on her face as she admired her three latest acquisitions . . . a marvelous night’s work. The ivory alone would make her richer than she ever dreamed. A few more ships to her credit, and she would soon have a flotilla. An armed flotilla.

  Cato came up behind her. “Are we sailing home?” he asked quietly.

  Amalie turned, her eyes softening in the early light. “No,” she said. “Soon, though.”

  “What will you do next?” he asked. He was remembering the hours he’d spent lying next to her. He wanted to be there again, in her bunk, shutting out the world.

  Amalie pretended to consider his question as she sipped her coffee. “I think we’ll wait for the . . . person the Dutch East India Company hired to find me. He can’t be far away. And I suspect he won’t be as foolish as our fat captain. Silent and deadly, I’ll wager. If he’s who I think he is, then he feels he has a score to settle with us for sacking his cargo.”

  “The Spaniard?” Cato asked.

  She nodded. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Who else would be angry and poor enough to take on the fruitless task of finding the Sea Siren? Remember, too, that we attacked his ship off the coast. For all we know, he could be sailing blind. He doesn’t know we’re in his waters, so to speak. He’s either captaining his own ship or one belonging to the Dutch East India Company,” she mused. “Until then, though, our immediate problem is where to hide these ships.”

  “The outer islands are riddled with hideaways and caves,” Cato said, frowning. “If we found one, we can find others. Surely your father’s maps will yield a suitable place. Perhaps a deep harbor, the one he used to store the unlimed nutmegs you told me about when we were in Saianha.”

  “I told you about that!” Amalie said in puzzled surprise.

  “It was when I carried you to your house after you injured your arm. You spoke of many things then. I remember all of them,” he said softly, proudly.

  He was so boyish, Amalie thought, and yet manly at the same time. Her eyes warmed as she handed him her mug. “Have one of the men bring some food to my cabin. I want to go over those charts again.”

  Cato shuffled his feet on the deck. “Have someone bring food to my cabin” meant he wasn’t to do the bringing. Steaming with jealousy, he stalked away, aware that Amalie’s eyes were boring into his back. When she wanted him, she would let him know. If he wanted her, he would just have to wait until she was ready. Lovemaking on command. He spit over the side of the rail to show his displeasure. Maybe living as a king wasn’t going to be so wonderful after all.

  In her quarters, Amalie spread out the old maps and charts on her bunk, knowing full well it was going to take every bit of concentration to decipher her father’s faded markings. Hours later her eyes burned with strain and her shoulders ached with tension. What good were the ships if she couldn’t find a safe harbor for them? And the ivory-was it a good idea to leave it aboard the ships, or should she secure it in the caves with the rest of the booty they’d plundered? Her head reeled with all the possibilities. Becoming rich had been the easy part. The hard part, she now realized, was keeping the riches secure.

  Returning to Saianha would be the simplest solution. In her own waters she might fare better, but then, what should she do with the plunder they’d already stored? She couldn’t have two bases of operation, and yet . . .

  Her head started to pound. If her crew became aware of her indecision, they might decide to take matters into their own hands. What captain would sail blindly with no destination in mind? She had to come up with something befor
e she went on deck. She bent over the maps again.

  Amalie could barely keep her eyes focused when, an eternity later, she sat back with a satisfied sigh. After hours of painstaking scrutiny, the oldest of the maps had yielded the perfect sanctuary: a deep cove at the end of the River of Death. There was something in her father’s journal about the deadly river, something to do with the real Sea Siren. Volcanoes and rocks . . . “the only explanation,” he’d written in his cramped hand. But explanation of what? According to the chart in front of her, the mouth of the river had been closed off when twin volcanoes had erupted years before.

  Amalie massaged her throbbing temples before she returned to the maps. Bits and pieces of her father’s journal flashed before her, committed to memory. Of course! “The only explanation” meant the Sea Siren had sailed her ship up the River of Death, and that was how she’d outwitted all who’d been determined to capture her. Amalie felt giddy with the realization. How else could the female renegade disappear at will? If the mouth of the river was blocked at some point, surely over the years the elements had created another opening.

  Her best calculations, allowing for a stint of heavy weather, placed her approximately seven days away from the river. She’d give the order to change course and head directly for it; with luck, the tides and currents over the years had rendered it passable. She could only pray that she wasn’t making a mistake.

  Amalie felt almost invincible as she strode up and out to the deck. How wonderful the balmy air felt, how clean and fresh! The throbbing in her temples eased with each long-legged stride. She had accomplished a feat the equal of any the Sea Siren had performed. And she’d become a woman in the true sense of the word. This strange, intoxicating elation had to be . . . happiness. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

  Hours later she was still on deck, her perch on a pile of rigging secure. Overhead, millions of tiny stars winked down at her while dark clouds, as soft as gossamer, sailed across the sky like graceful dancers. She’d lost all track of time and knew only that it was the dead of the night. She should have been sleepy, but she wasn’t.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Cato said softly. “You should be asleep.” He reached out to caress her hair, and Amalie shivered beneath his touch.

  “I don’t want to sleep for fear I’ll miss something,” she said. “If I had my way, I’d never sleep. It’s such a waste of time. We live only once, and every hour, every minute, should be savored. Sleep robs us of those precious hours and minutes.”

  Cato pondered her words. “In these hours, nothing of importance happens. Darkness is a time for . . . many things.”

  Amalie laughed throatily, the sound tinkling seductively across the rippling water. “One night we’ll make love here on the deck under the stars. Would you like that?” He nodded. Amalie knew that even now he was consumed with passion for her. All she had to do was crook her finger and . . .

  “There’s a time and a place for everything, Cato,” she said, smiling, touching his cheek. “Soon. . . . ”

  A bank of dark clouds scudded across the moon, blotting out the winking stars. “You see, if we were below decks, we would miss this blessed darkness,” she murmured, gazing up at the heavens. “It’s as though someone tossed a coverlet across the sky, bathing us in this dark velvet. Now we have only scent and feeling. The smoke pots are low. Once they’re extinguished the blackness will be complete.” She looked at him. “Does that frighten you?”

  “No. Does it frighten you?” Cato asked curiously.

  “Somewhat. If a ship were to come upon us, how would we see and retaliate? We would have to rely on our senses of smell and touch. A little difficult if one is to do battle, do you agree?”

  Cato shrugged. “Unlikely.”

  “The moment we make a safe harbor, I want the galleon’s weapons transferred to this frigate. It was foolish of me even to think of sailing this ship without cannon, but I did it, and it’s not a mistake I want to repeat. Two expert gunners are all we need, providing they have excellent eyesight.” Amalie could feel Cato’s shudder.

  “If I’m to die, I’d rather die at a man’s hands,” he said stoutly. “A man whose face I can see.” His tone softened then. “If you wanted this frigate outfitted with cannon, it should have been done in port. It’s going to be an awesome task, and there’s going to be a war among the crew. Give some thought to unloading the ivory from the brigantine and sailing her. It will be a simple matter to paint the ship black if that’s your intention.”

  “No,” Amalie said harshly. “This is my ship. The Sea Siren belongs to me. It wouldn’t be the same; I must sail this ship. At one time it carried its own cannon, but those bastards in town made off with them, thinking this ship would never be seaworthy again. It can be done, but until then I think we should sail only under cover of darkness. We have three ships to worry about now as well as our own, and we’re short handed. We’re ripe for the picking if another pirate ship accosts us. I have no intention of giving up what I have, Cato. I want you to apprise the crew of this. If there’s any dissension, let me know.”

  The last of the oil in the smoke pot sputtered out, bathing the deck in total darkness. For a moment all was silent, and then suddenly Cato whirled about, his words hissing in the quiet moonlit night. It took a moment for Amalie to realize that he was talking to one of her men. A strange sail had been sighted three leagues westward, said the crewman, flying two colors, Dutch and Spanish.

  The words whipped from Amalie’s mouth. “Do we assume she’s armed? How high does she ride? Cargo?”

  “I recognize her,” the seaman reported. “She’s the backbone of the Dutch East India Company and is deployed to convoy cargo vessels and to fight off pirates. She’s three-masted and carries square rigging. It’s doubtful she’s carrying cargo, she rides too high.”

  Amalie peered about her in the darkness, seeing nothing. The night could work for her or against her, since the same darkness cloaked the unknown ship to the west. Her mind raced, and for the first time she felt unsure of her course. “Has she spotted us?”

  “Aye, but she probably thinks we’re from her own company since her true colors still fly. The night is too dark for her to see us clearly.”

  “Can we overtake her?”

  “Aye, if we change course and leave the other ships behind,” the seaman said. “But then we have no cannon.”

  Attack or not attack? Perspiration dotted Amalie’s brow. “Conditions are not . . . appropriate for an attack,” she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “We’ll stay on course.”

  “There are weapons aboard the brigantines,” the seaman said boldly. “We can be aboard in minutes.”

  “To what end?” Amalie snarled. “A ship with an empty hold will do us no good. We have to find a safe harbor for the three ships we have now. A fourth, if we’re lucky enough to snare her, will only compound our problem. She’s no good to us. Pass the word, we stay true on our course.”

  “What if she attacks us?” Cato asked quietly.

  “That’s a different matter. If it happens, we’ll deal—”

  A volley of thunder ripped through the black night, drowning out Amalie’s words and putting an abrupt end to her hopes of sailing on unseen. “All hands on deck!” she shouted as pungent black smoke whirled upward from the galleon. “She’s been hit broadside. All hands to the brigantine. Over the side. Quickly!” A second volley of shots rocketed through the night and then a third, none of them finding their target.

  The frigate was alongside the brigantine in minutes. Amalie leapt aboard, shouting orders to fire on the three-masted ship. “Shred her sails! Rupture her bow! Splinter her stern! I want that ship gutted and sunk! Move fast, men! The fool fires on his own ships!” She pointed to several scurrying seamen. “You, you, and you, shore up this ship—and be quick, or that beautiful ivory will sink to the bottom of the sea, where it will do us no good.”

  “You fire like women with babies on their hips!” L
uis Domingo shouted above the cannon shots. “Do I have to come down there and show you how to do it? Open your eyes and fire on the target. Shot that goes to the bottom of the sea does us no good.” Roaring with rage, his face white as sheeting, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see a pair of beautiful long legs leap gracefully from the bow of the brigantine and land just inches from where he was standing. The Sea Siren!

  “Enough!” she cried. “Give quarter or we sink this ship with all your men aboard! Think fast, señor, you have only seconds!”

  “Never!”

  “Never is a very long time. Never could very well be your eternity. I’ll ask you again—give quarter.”

  “I said never!” Luis snarled. “I’ll kill you before I yield. First you robbed my cargo with your cutthroats, then you had the gall to accost me a second time and tell me that it wasn’t you at all but an impostor pillaging and plundering in your name.” He took a step forward and spat in front of her, eyes murderous. “Liar! Sea slut!”

  What was he talking about? For the briefest of seconds Amalie’s blood ran cold and she wavered. “I—I had no intention of attacking your ship, señor. You fired first. As for your cargo, if you aren’t man enough to defend what is yours, you deserve to be bested. Now fight like a man or go over the side! I gave you your chance and you ignored it.”

  Amalie’s cutlass lashed upward and then down quicker than the volley of shots ripping through the night. She feinted to the right, the tip of her blade slicing through the air. Suddenly a jolt of pain ripped up her arm into her shoulder as the Spaniard’s cutlass met her own. She sidestepped neatly, drawing the blade down the length of his leg. Taken by surprise with the force of her strength, Luis staggered backward. Amalie seized the advantage and brought up the cutlass, using both hands to hack at the weapon in her opponent’s hand. Recovering quickly, he jabbed at her midsection, but she stepped aside nimbly, her weapon arching upward. She feinted to the right and then the left, lashing out in every direction, hoping to make contact in the darkness. Again steel met steel, but this time she felt herself being driven backward, farther, farther, until she was forced against the ship’s railing.

 

‹ Prev