The Marauder (Pirates of Britannia Book 11)

by Anna Markland

  None of her imaginings about her first kiss came close to the overwhelming sensations that assailed her body when Santi put his mouth on hers. It seemed natural to open her lips and allow his tongue entry. She sucked on him like a hungry child, letting him breathe for her.

  She snaked her arms around his neck when he cupped her bottom and pressed her mons to his hard body. Lost in the desire blossoming deep within, her heart lurched when, without warning, they were wrenched apart.

  “Leave him,” she screeched, filled with alarm as Santiago struggled to be free of two burly black men clamped on to his arms.

  Spewing curses, Montserrat grabbed her wrist.

  Another black man came to Santiago’s aid, quickly losing the curious top hat he wore.

  “Take your hands off her,” Santi shouted.

  “Stinking pirate! You’ll be shot for defiling Lady Valentina,” Montserrat hissed. “Take him away.”

  “No,” she screamed, her heart pounding wildly as she tried unsuccessfully to free her wrist from Montserrat’s manic grip.

  “What’s going on here?”

  She swayed with relief at the sound of her father’s voice, coming close to toppling over when Montserrat abruptly released her.

  She ran to Santi, pulling frantically at one of the men holding him.

  “Cease!” her father yelled. “All of you.”

  The moment Santi was released, he put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Valentina, what is happening here?” her father demanded to know.

  “This pirate has defiled your daughter, sir,” Montserrat asserted.

  Her father clenched his jaw, glaring at Santiago.

  “He did not defile me, Papa,” she countered, cuddling closer to Santi. “I was so overwhelmingly happy that he was here, I threw myself at him.”

  “Now he hides behind a woman’s skirts,” Montserrat exclaimed.

  She felt the outrage coursing through Santiago.

  “May I explain?” he asked with more calmness than he was obviously feeling. “I am a man of honor, a member of an old Spanish family, as you yourself are aware. I am not a defiler of women.”

  “He’s a pirate,” Montserrat shouted, his voice loaded with exasperation.

  Santiago ignored him, continuing to address her father. “We are in a precarious position here. All in the same boat, one might say. It is not in our interests to squabble. I have a large ship at my disposal and I offer it as the safest means of transportation to Cuba for you and your daughter. I intend to do my upmost to make sure she arrives there safely so we can be married…with your blessing of course, Your Honor.”

  “Married to a pirate,” Montserrat mumbled, throwing his hands in the air.

  Her father arched a brow, but he seemed to be ignoring his vice-governor. “What say you to all this, niña?”

  Floating on a cloud of happiness, she looked into beloved brown eyes. “I beg you to grant my dearest wish, Papa,” she replied.

  Chapter Seventeen

  EVE OF DEPARTURE

  As the shadows lengthened, the refugees cheered and applauded when the Cuban vessels dropped anchor.

  Santiago would have preferred to continue the discussion with Melchor, but this wasn’t the time or place. Reluctantly, he took Valentina’s hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “Go with your papa, Cariña. I must attend to the safety of my ship and prepare for tomorrow’s voyage. You are in my heart.”

  He hoped she understood he wanted to whisk her off to his cabin, but such behavior would only jeopardise their cause.

  To his relief, she nodded and walked to her father’s side.

  Feeling the chill of the night air on his clammy skin, and at a definite disadvantage without his shirt, he bowed to Melchor. “Excellency, I will return at dawn to discuss these matters further.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Montserrat sneered.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Melchor retorted. “Take my daughter to the room Jacobs has assigned her in the stockade.” He kissed Valentina’s cheek. “It’s not what you’re used to.”

  She hugged him. “Thank you, Papa.”

  Santiago felt uneasy allowing the scowling vice-governor to take Valentina by the arm, but at least she’d be safe in the stockade.

  “This is highly irregular,” Melchor muttered as he strode off to supervise the loading of the Cuban ships.

  Christian picked up his hat and dusted it off. “As if any of this is regular! Come on, otherwise the Santa María will be overrun with refugees.”

  “Do you think I have a chance?” Santiago asked him as they made their way back to the ship.

  “You’ve succeeded in getting what you wanted in the past,” his friend replied. “The question is, do you really want her, or is it just revenge you’re seeking?”

  Valentina paced the narrow confines of the room she’d been allotted which was actually a half-emptied cupboard. She was bone-tired, but the cot smelled peculiar, and she was desperate to stay awake long enough to speak to her father when he returned.

  She pulled her shawl tighter and rubbed her upper arms, listening to the cicadas chirping outside. She would miss the familiar sound if there were no cicadas in Cuba.

  “But it won’t matter,” she told herself. “I can bloom there, if I’m with Santi.”

  She covered her ears against the loud arguments going on outside and prayed all would go well with the evacuation. Tempers were evidently fraying, but then people were exhausted and afraid. She prayed God would give her father the strength he needed.

  As the hours dragged by, she searched her heart, trying to understand the sudden rush of love she felt for a man she should avoid like the plague. Manuela would faint dead away at the very notion, and if Valentina revealed the carnal thoughts running through her head…

  But her dueña was a widow. Surely she and her husband…

  She conjured an image of Manuela naked that brought on a fit of unkind giggles.

  She rehearsed over and over what she would say to her father to convince him when he came to her. He likely deemed her a silly girl with even sillier fantasies. Perhaps, he was right. Santiago was a man of the world, a beautiful man. He’d probably bedded many women, whereas she had no inkling of how to please a husband.

  “Husband,” she whispered into the hard pillow when she finally pulled the rough blanket over her exhausted body.

  With growing dismay, Santiago and Christian watched as a potential disaster unfolded. Refugees pushed and shoved each other as they clambered aboard the launches lowered from the Cuban vessels. Arguments broke out and neither Jacobs nor the Governor seemed able to control the situation which occasionally erupted into fisticuffs. Montserrat was nowhere in evidence.

  “Melchor’s exhausted,” Santiago remarked. “Looks like he’s lost his wig somewhere along the line.”

  “If this is a sign of things to come, the ships will sink before they even get halfway,” his first mate said.

  “Let’s do what we can,” Santiago suggested, “otherwise they’ll turn their attention to the Santa María. Maybe that hat of yours will carry weight.”

  Christian grinned, tapping the top of the somewhat battered headwear. “We’ll see.”

  They ensured every access to their ship was well guarded before leaving.

  Xiang rowed them to shore.

  The Chinaman stayed with the skiff as they strode towards the launches.

  Christian pulled his pistol from his belt and fired into the air.

  The uproar ceased abruptly as everyone crouched down, gazing about frantically.

  “More effective than a hat, wouldn’t you say?” Christian asked.

  Santiago took advantage of the lull. “Do you want to drown in the cold Atlantic?” he shouted. “I know everyone is afraid, but panic will lead to many deaths.”

  Valentina’s father emerged from the crowd and strode to his side. “Capitán Velázquez is right,” he announced. “I have been assured the Spanish ships
will be allowed to ply back and forth to Cuba until everyone is safe. If you overload them they will sink, and no one will escape.”

  There was some disgruntled mumbling, but the crowd generally seemed calmer.

  “The ships cannot sail until daybreak,” Santiago pointed out. “I suggest you find a place to sleep until then. If you’ve caused a boat to be overloaded, then get out of it. Now! We are Spaniards and we will not behave like frightened animals under the sneering gaze of English seamen.”

  Every head turned to the two British warships out in the bay, their rails lined with sailors watching the debacle.

  “That did the trick,” Melchor said, offering Santiago his hand as people nodded their understanding and orderly calm was restored. “I thank you.”

  The handshake was firm and genuine, but it would be foolish to hope Melchor would approve of his suit for Valentina’s hand. There were many wealthy Spanish landowners in Cuba. “De nada,” he replied. “You should get some sleep. We’ll keep watch from the Santa María.”

  Melchor hesitated then nodded his agreement. “You’re right. It’s too late to talk with Valentina. She’ll be asleep. Poor girl is exhausted.”

  Santiago felt a surge of pride. “She’s courageous.”

  “Sí. Tomorrow’s discussion will go better if we’ve slept on it.”

  As he watched Melchor retreat to the stockade, Santiago didn’t know what to make of the governor’s words.

  Chapter Eighteen

  TREACHERY

  The click of the door latch penetrated Valentina’s confused dream. She decided reluctantly to ask her father if they could put off their talk until the morrow.

  He held a sweet-smelling cloth to her face.

  She inhaled deeply, falling, falling…

  Perhaps he didn’t realize the cloth made it hard to breathe. The smell, sickly now, was overwhelming, reminding her of something Alessandro had said about dangerous plants…Her father wouldn’t…

  She dragged her eyes open.

  Montserrat’s sneering face hovered over her. The suffocating cloth muffled her scream.

  “You don’t give me a second look,” he hissed, “but you’ll marry a pirate. I think not.”

  Desperate now, she sank her teeth into the cloth, hoping to bite his hand. She gagged on the bitter taste. He swore in Catalan, then slapped her across the face and covered her mouth and nose again.

  Her mind raced, searching for a means of escape, but he was too strong. He intended to murder her and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  She clawed at his face, until the darkness claimed her and she surrendered to oblivion.

  Unable to sleep, Santiago left his cabin and wandered up on deck where he encountered Christian scanning the darkened shore. “You’re restless too?” he asked.

  “Something’s going on in the stockade,” the first mate replied. “What’s more, I could have sworn the British lowered a launch.”

  Santiago strode to the other side of the Santa María. “All quiet on the Royal Navy ships. Maybe it was something else you heard.”

  “Too dark to see with the moon hidden by the clouds, but there’s movement outside the stockade.”

  Santiago shrugged. “Hundreds of people are sleeping on the hard ground. There’s bound to be…”

  He paused when a figure loomed out of the onshore darkness.

  “Señores.”

  “Mapache,” Santiago growled, recognizing the voice immediately.

  Christian chuckled. “Come to think of it, he does resemble a raccoon.”

  “Señores, come quickly,” Montserrat urged hoarsely. “The governor and his daughter…peligro.”

  Cursing that he hadn’t insisted on Valentina and her father coming aboard the Santa María, Santiago headed for the ladder down to the skiff they’d left in the water. “Stay here,” he told his first mate. “If the British are snooping about, you’ll be safer on board.”

  Christian shook his head, patting the pistol tucked in his waistband. “I’ll be fine. Let’s see what the danger is.”

  Montserrat helped them bring the skiff up the beach. “This way. I heard a voice calling for help. I’m sure it was Lady Valentina.”

  Santiago drew his dagger and Christian readied his pistol as the vice-governor led them along the shoreline. It was slow going in the inky blackness. He began to wonder why Mapache hadn’t brought a torch. Gooseflesh marched across his nape.

  Suddenly, he made out the shape of a launch bobbing in the water. As they drew closer he saw the boat was crammed full of blacks, men and women, all gagged and chained together.

  His gut clenched when he saw there was one white woman wedged among them, sagging against her neighbor like a lifeless rag doll.

  Valentina!

  Rage sent him running towards the craft.

  “Wait,” Christian cautioned. “It’s a trap.”

  He would have heeded the warning had a sharp blow to the back of his head not sent him staggering headlong into the shallows.

  Valentina groaned as she awoke. An ache throbbed in her temples, her throat was bone dry and the sour taste in her mouth was like nothing she’d tasted before. On top of that, the bed in which she lay seemed to be pitching and rolling. Her stomach rebelled. If the movement didn’t stop soon she was going to be…

  “She’s about to retch,” a man’s voice declared in English.

  She rolled on to her side and vomited into a bowl someone had thankfully provided.

  When the heaving stopped, she looked up into the eyes of a young lad she’d never seen before.

  “Take it away, Collins,” the same male voice commanded. Her tutor had given her lessons in the language, but she understood more than she could speak. However, it was beyond her comprehension in her current state to grasp why she was apparently on board a ship with an Englishman.

  She accepted the help of a strong hand to sit up, realizing she was in a well-furnished cabin.

  “Feeling better?”

  She looked up at a tall man wearing a powdered wig, and the uniform of a Royal Navy captain. “Where am I?” she asked in Spanish.

  “Aboard the HMS Lively,” he replied in English, handing her a tumbler of water. “Captain Lewis Maitland at your service.”

  She sipped carefully, anxious not to bring on more retching. “What am I doing here?”

  He shrugged, raising both palms in a gesture of mild annoyance. “My Spanish isn’t good enough to explain that to you, my dear,” he said. “I leave it to your friend.”

  For the first time she became aware of another man, slouched in a chair in a shadowed corner. She gripped the edge of the mattress. “Montserrat.”

  The Raccoon got to his feet, looking none too pleased. “I brought you here.”

  The terrible memory assailed her. She had been falling into a bottomless abyss, unable to do anything to save herself. It appeared she hadn’t died, unless this was purgatory. She looked from one man to the other. The animosity between them was almost palpable. “I don’t understand.”

  But she did know the cause of the livid scratches on the Raccoon’s face, and it gave her a certain satisfaction. Her face stung where he’d struck her.

  The young lad slipped quietly into the cabin. Maitland took off his jacket and handed it to the boy. “I have been explaining to Señor Montserrat that our agreement was to return slaves to their rightful masters, but British colonists do not enslave genteel white women.”

  She struggled to understand the foreign words that had clearly angered Montserrat. “Slaves?”

  “I did not bring Señorita Melchor aboard with the intention of selling her into slavery,” her abductor explained in Spanish.

  The Englishman raised an eyebrow. “I see. Amante, then? Are you in agreement with this plan?” he asked her.

  Pride overcame fear. She struggled to climb over the bed’s wooden railing and came to her feet. “I am Valentina Melchor de Alcobendas y Guadarrama,” she hissed in Spanish. “I am the daug
hter of the Governor of La Florida. I demand to be returned to my father. This man has a wife, and I would rather die than become his amante.”

  Especially when my heart belongs to Santiago.

  Maitland paced, hands behind his back. “Unfortunately, your father is no longer the governor, and we are bound for our home port of Kingston in Jamaica, so turning back to Florida is out of the question.”

  “And my wife is in Cuba,” Montserrat said. “A place I never intend to go.”

  “Why not?” she asked, anger constricting her throat.

  The captain chuckled. “Because the Spanish authorities will hang him when they discover your Catalonian friend has been spying for the British government.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  TERRIFYING DISADVANTAGE

  “Is he dead?”

  “Nay, still breathing. Wake up, laddie.”

  “Velly bad, velly bad.”

  Santiago thought he recognized the voices, but his throbbing head felt like it had been split open. He was strangely chilled, as if he was lying in a pool of water. He risked opening one eye, startled to see Robertson’s nose inches from his own.

  “Aye, he’s comin’ round. Give him room.”

  Strong hands helped him sit up and he discovered he was in fact sitting on the muddy shore. He blinked rapidly to clear the fog. The first thing he saw was the battered top hat in Xiang’s grip. Fury intensified his headache as the events of the previous night came flooding back.

  “Velly bad,” Xiang repeated. “They took Masta Williams.”

  Santiago struggled to his feet in time to see Melchor striding towards him.