Captive Secrets

by Fern Michaels

  “There is one problem I think we’ve both overlooked,” Fury said, standing. “How am I to dance in this tight dress we’ve created? I can just see it unraveling while I’m on the dance floor. My petticoat will be such a shock.”

  “Petticoat . . . petticoat . . . you don’t wear a petticoat with . . . absolutely not. You’ll look ... fat and dumpy, like the ladies with corsets. No, no, no, the material must swirl and drape, there is no room for underpinnings.”

  “None?” Fury gulped. “What if it comes loose by some . . . fluke . . . men are so clumsy . . . my God, I didn’t think . . . no, I must wear . . . stop laughing, Juli. I could be exposed . . . good Lord, now what am I to do?” Fury wailed.

  “It’s too late to do anything, so you might as well stop fretting about what could happen and concentrate on making it not happen. If you really don’t want to dance, say you hurt your ankle. You’ll think of something,” Juli said loftily.

  Fury’s stomach turned sour when she thought of herself dancing unaware of the emerald silk unwinding until she was stark naked in Luis Domingo’s arms, the guests hooting with delight. Dear God. She must have been crazy to accept this invitation and go along with Juli’s idea for the dress—or was it her idea—damnation, she couldn’t remember anything today. She turned to Juli and said sweetly, “I will personally throttle you with my bare hands if this dress so much as moves on my body.” Juli blanched and shrugged.

  “If it does, there will be hundreds of men wanting to make an honest woman of you.” She almost hoped it would happen; nothing would stir up the party like a naked woman. Then she thought about Fury’s promise. “I forgot to tell you that my brother said the prettiest girls from . . . you know, Clarice’s place, are to be among the governors’ escorts. Can you imagine! Of course the town ladies don’t know they’ve been invited, because this time, it seems, the men are organizing the soiree.” Juli laughed and clapped her hands with glee. “I can’t wait to see the expressions on the faces of those dowagers!”

  The town whores at the soiree! Fury felt light-headed. Father Sebastian had said Naula was the prettiest of Clarice’s girls. Certainly she would be at the soiree on the arm of one of the governors. The idea of Clarice’s girls at the party was so outrageous, Fury found herself laughing.

  “I can’t imagine what protocol is in a matter such as this,” she sputtered, wiping her eyes. “Does one acknowledge them? No doubt the governors will expect a certain amount of . . . camaraderie among the women! My God, Juli, I never would have believed this. Perhaps there’s no need for us to stop by the parish house now—undoubtedly Father Sebastian will be attending the soiree himself, if for no other reason than to keep the guests from tearing one another apart!”

  While the two women laughed about Father Sebastian’s role at the soiree, the good padre himself was finding nothing amusing in the situation, although he knew he could perform his duties as long as he kept his gaze lowered. However, it wasn’t the evening’s festivities that bothered him, but the letter he held in his hand.

  The words on the stiff, crackly parchment were already committed to memory, but still he opened the letter and read it again, fingering the heavy gold seal that identified to the reader, as surely as the cramped, narrow script and ponderous signature, the source of the correspondence. The elderly priest was sorry that he’d petitioned the archbishop himself to grant Fury entrance to the convent. That permission had now been granted, thanks to his pleas-temporary entrance two weeks from Sunday.

  Sighing, he slid the letter between the pages of his Bible and plodded wearily into the kitchen. Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? Now he would have to tell Furana ... and he didn’t want to.

  “Say the rosary, say the rosary,” came a squawk from the kitchen windowsill. “Pray for the living, pray for the dead. Sins are the devil’s work, oh, yes, oh, yes, pray-praypray!”

  “Shut up,” the priest grumbled, glaring up at the brightly plumed caged parrot. A moment later he hurried off as a knock sounded at his front door.

  It was Furana and her housekeeper. Father Sebastian’s eyes flew to his Bible. Not today; he couldn’t tell her today. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after. “Lies are sinful, lies are sinful!” the parrot screeched as the priest opened the door.

  “What a wonderful surprise,” Father Sebastian said hoarsely. “Thank you,” he said, taking a basket of food from Juli. “I’ll just take this inside.” He made his way down the hallway to the kitchen, where he immediately threw a rag over the parrot’s cage.

  “Death to all sinners!” shrieked the bird before darkness descended.

  “Tea, ladies?” the priest asked, returning to the parlor.

  “No, Father, we stopped only to deliver this basket. We’re on our way to Mevrouw von Klausner’s house for the soiree this evening. I trust you will be there to give the opening blessing,” Fury said, biting her lips to keep from laughing.

  “Yes. I was rather surprised, but then, I am the only religious in town at this time. Tonight is . . . uh, rather unusual, but they—the governors, that is—have asked me specifically . . . and they have been most kind to many of my poor, unfortunate parishioners. . . .”

  “Will Señor Domingo be in attendance?” Juli asked, rescuing the poor man from his obvious discomfort.

  “Why, yes, I believe so. He was in port yesterday. I’m sure he will be there. Nau—uh, he needs some respite, as do most men.”

  Fury took pity on the priest. “Perhaps you shouldn’t attend. I know it’s going to be difficult for you. I could explain to Mevrouw von Klausner that you aren’t feeling well.”

  Father Sebastian smiled warmly. “It’s kind of you, Furana, but I’ll be fine. You ladies had best run along now. I know how much time it takes for you to prepare yourselves for these occasions.”

  “Thank you, Father. Rest now, we can see ourselves out. And Father,” Fury called over her shoulder, “I know your blessing will be appreciated by ... everyone.”

  “Poor dear,” she murmured as they made their way to the von Klausner house at the end of the street. “He’s so torn between what is right and wrong. He will suffer torments over this.” She giggled.

  “We’re going to be the first to arrive,” Juli grumbled. “Your mother always said it was fashionable to be late, and people pay more attention when you’re the last to arrive. Our timing is . . . inadequate.”

  Fury shrugged. “Even if we’re the first to arrive, I can make sure I am the last to be announced. It makes no difference.” He’s going to be here, she thought, heart pounding. I’ll see him again.

  Excitement coursed through Fury as a clutch of djongos carried their small satchels and escorted them to their assigned rooms.

  “Missy wish bath?” the djongo queried.

  “Yes.” Juli nodded briskly as she set about laying Fury’s clothing on the bed. “Quickly, quickly.” She frowned as the djongo minced his way out the door.

  Fury’s transformation was about to begin.

  Every nerve in Luis Domingo’s body quivered with exasperation at his circumstances. Here he was sitting aboard the Silver Lady smoking a cigar like one of Batavia’s fat merchants instead of sailing the sea searching for the Sea Siren. He had Dykstra and the brood of governors from Amsterdam to thank for his idleness. Thanks to Dykstra, he would also be attending the soiree at the von Klausner house, an affair he wasn’t looking forward to. He wasn’t in the mood to salivate over coy woman and dominating mothers who thought him a good catch for their aging daughters. Of course he could have refused the invitation and sailed on the early tide, but he hadn’t. The Dutch East India Company had hired him, and in their employ he would do as instructed.

  Luis’s stance, as he leaned against the mainmast, was one of unconscious grace. He blew a perfect smoke ring as he stared out at the deep blue of the ocean. He itched to take the wheel and sail until he came to the mouth of the River of Death. Nothing would stop him tomorrow; he would sail with the tide—under his own colors or th
ose of the Dutch East India Company.

  He hated to admit it, but he had the feeling that something was about to go awry, something he had no control over. He gazed out to sea, shielding his eyes against the sun’s brilliant glare, searching for something—anything—that might give him a clue. He felt as though he were carrying a hundred-pound yoke on his shoulders, and he didn’t like the feeling.

  The sun dimmed momentarily, and Luis glanced upward. The sky had been blue without a trace of a cloud. He sucked in his breath as two dark shapes, wings spread, flew directly overhead, blocking the sun. The goddamn black birds! He swiveled to follow them with his eyes and was stunned a moment later to see them nest in the breadfruit tree at the von Klausner house. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered.

  The hundred-pound yoke disappeared. The Sea Siren—the real one or the impostor—was nearby, either on land or hiding in a deepwater cove. He cursed himself for allowing Dykstra to talk him out of sailing to the River of Death. Instantly he was off the Silver Lady and boarding the ship he’d just brought into port yesterday. In moments he had his maps and charts out of their goatskin protection, his narrowed gaze tracing the route he would take tomorrow.

  Nothing had changed since he’d looked at them last. Again his finger traced the route, up the river, farther, farther, until he came to the deepwater cove he was certain sequestered the deadly, sleek black ship captained by the Sea Siren. She was close; this was what he’d been feeling.

  Once again his finger traced the cove, this time until he came to the wide half-circle and solid wall of rock and jungle on each side. There was no reason to sail up the River of Death, he realized. He could ride at least part of the way and use his feet the rest of the time. He could leave now and find that goddamn black ship before nightfall. He had to. Time was his enemy, with the Spanish ship due in any day.

  It was the diamonds, of course. She was after the diamonds, so there was no point in wasting his time searching her out; she would find them. And she was here: he could feel her. Close, by God, she was so close!

  Fifteen minutes later Luis was riding hard. An hour later he realized he was hopelessly lost. All about him was steaming verdant jungle. To his eye, there was no sign of a trail or footpath. The horse, lathered and panting, was about ready to drop. Luis looked upward at the startling blue sky, expecting to see the black birds circling overhead. But the expanse remained serene and beautiful.

  Ten minutes later he dismounted and tethered the weary animal. The blazing sun beat down on him as he struck out on foot, his hands ripping and beating back the choking jungle growth. Time soon lost all meaning, but he tramped on regardless. At one point he was aware the sun was well over his shoulder and that he should start back. Another thirty minutes, he pleaded with himself, just thirty more minutes.

  Suddenly he found himself sniffing like a dog at a smell he would have recognized anywhere. Water . . . wonderful, glorious water. And something else: the faint sound of voices. He dropped to a near crouch and inched his way to the small sandy beach directly ahead of him. A cove, probably one of many, but would the Siren’s ship be anchored in this quiet spot? He slithered to the edge of the beach under full cover of the thick, lush foliage.

  Luis’s heart thundered in his chest until he was certain the men laughing aboard the black frigate would hear it. Black frigate. The Sea Siren’s ship! His eyes searched out the battering ram on the bow. That he would never forget! By God, he’d found it, he’d succeeded where hundreds of others had failed.

  He strained to hear what the voices were saying, then blinked in disbelief. They were having a discussion about children and furniture! Chatting and drinking coffee from a huge iron pot on deck. These were not common seamen. Christ, was it possible he’d made a mistake? He continued to listen, one eye on the setting sun.

  A deep, pleasant laugh carried across the water as one of the men discussed his sister. The others seemed to know her, for only complimentary words were being used. Was the sister the Sea Siren? Luis wondered. A moment later he knew he’d found the right ship when another of the men mentioned “the capitana” and the sister in the same breath. “Even if she feeds those devil birds for the capitana, she’s as fearful of them as we are.” There was a chorus of agreement among the men. Luis found himself pounding the ground triumphantly. “I wonder if the birds will chaperone the party this evening,” the man continued. “Can you picture that scene?”

  Luis had heard enough. He crawled backward until he felt it was safe to stand erect. Then he spun around and tore down the path he’d created earlier. The inky night settled about him just as he sighted his horse. Breathing raggedly, he leaned against the animal’s broad flanks.

  By God, he’d found her . . . almost. He’d found her ship, and that was every bit as good as finding the she-devil herself. All he had to do, he thought as he climbed into the saddle, was alert the Dutch East India Company and block the entrance to the River of Death. Position men all along the perimeter of the cove to cut off any means of escape. Then he’d have her!

  A sudden thought made him rein in the horse. Which one was she? Who was the real Siren—the one with the damn black birds or the other one? Both women had a scar; he felt somehow confident of that, although he hadn’t seen them and had felt only one for sure. But on which arm? That was the secret . . . which arm? Left? Right?

  Angrily Luis wiped his sweating forehead with his shirtsleeve as he spurred the horse onward. By night’s end he’d have his answer. And he would remain quiet and not tell Mynheer Dykstra what he’d just discovered. For now.

  The moment he reached the smithy he slid from the horse’s back and handed the animal to a stable boy. He raced down the street to the town’s one boardinghouse. Inside, he shouted for a hot bath as he flew up the staircase, ripping at his shirt along the way.

  The startled bath boy rolled his eyes heavenward when Luis started to whistle. The señor was a happy man, he decided as pail after pail of water doused the Spaniard.

  Luis was still whistling when, one hour later, he strolled down the plank streets dressed in a natty white linen suit, a fragrant cigar between his fingers. He was the only man to have found the Siren’s lair, the only man. The knowledge was more powerful than any aphrodisiac.

  Yes, Luis Domingo was a happy man.

  Chapter Ten

  Juli clapped her hands to shoo the von Klausner servants from the room with their empty water pails. She turned to Fury, who was sitting on a stool wrapped in a length of soft sheeting. “And now, Señorita van der Rhys, it is time to turn you into the most ravishing creature in all of Batavia. First, your hair. . . . Hmm, you smell divine, better than the entire garden at the casa.”

  Fury watched in the mirror as her hair was pulled and tugged, swirled and twirled, until she was barely able to recognize herself in the pier glass. Suddenly she was totally different from the proper young lady who had graced her previous life. She held her breath as Juli touched coloring to her cheeks and blended it on her high cheekbones.

  “Now, do this,” the housekeeper said, stretching her mouth into a wide grimace. She ran her index finger deftly over Fury’s lips and blotted the excess. “See how white your teeth look against the color of your lips? Perfect! Just perfect,” she pronounced. “And now the earrings. . . . ”

  A moment later Fury took a look at herself and gasped. “I don’t look like me or my mother!”

  “That’s why it’s perfect. Men will be groveling at your feet, all those crusty old Dutch governors with their . . . women. Señor Domingo will probably drag you off to his ship in front of everyone and make wild, passionate love to you all night long,” Juli predicted, grinning.

  Fury giggled. The prospect was not without appeal, although she didn’t say so to Juli.

  Musical chords from the spinet in the ballroom wafted upward to drift through the open French doors. “I do believe the party is beginning,” Juli said. “Even up here I can hear the guests being announced. Oh, Miss Fury, you will create a stir
when you walk in alone, more regal than any queen. Quickly now, we must drape this silk to perfection. I have it timed perfectly. Don’t squirm, don’t even move,” she ordered. Fury’s face burned as Juli deftly wrapped the luxurious silk all about her naked body. The housekeeper had insisted she wear no undergarments at all, and she’d been right: no matter how thin, they would have thrown off the look of the fashioned gown.

  “Short steps only, Miss Fury.” Juli walked slowly around Fury, inspecting every curve with a critical eye. “You can do it. Just remember that every woman in the room will be green with jealousy, and every man desperate for your favors. And now I have a surprise for you,” she said, her eyes fairly dancing with excitement. “When I went downstairs for extra bath sheeting, I peeked at those little cards for the dinner guests, and guess who your partner is! Señor Domingo!”

  Fury’s heart began to pound. That meant she would have the handsome Spaniard all to herself for well over an hour. She laughed delightedly and pirouetted for Juli’s benefit.

  Juli tapped her chin with a stubby finger. “By next week I do believe we could sell this creation by the hundreds. We’re the only ones who know it hasn’t been sewn. We should give it serious thought. Now, remember, short steps or you’ll fall flat on your face,” she said tartly.

  Fury twirled one last time in front of the pier glass, her eyes drinking in the sight of her long, slender form. Suddenly the room was awash with sound and motion as the hawks swooped in to perch on the bedposts. Fury affected a low, sweeping bow, and Pilar fanned her wings in approval. Gaspar tilted his head to the side, then sailed across the room to land on the dressing table. He extended one claw, and Fury saw something sparkle in the clutch of his talon.

  “The garter!” Juli cried. “You get it, Miss Fury. I’m not going near those birds.”

  Fury held out her hand, and Gaspar dropped the diamond garter into her palm. “They love anything that glitters,” she said with fond indulgence as she fastened the garter on her upper arm. “Now what?” she asked Juli as the diamond circlet slipped to her wrist. “It’s too big. . . . ”