The Marauder (Pirates of Britannia Book 11)

by Anna Markland

  She didn’t know if pigs could swim, and what…

  The rope binding her to the railing was torn away. “Let go,” a deep voice said close to her ear. “Kick.”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t prize her frozen fingers off what was left of the railing.

  “I’ve got you, let go.”

  There was no point fighting the inevitable. She was fated to drown. Filling her lungs one last time, she surrendered to the strong arm clamped around her body.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ARMAGEDDON

  At anchor in the sheltered Bahía Escondida, the Santa María rode the swells as if she knew she’d come home. Once the skies brightened somewhat and the torrential rain dwindled to a tolerable drizzle, Santiago and his crew embarked on a survey of the damage wrought by the storm.

  “I’m anxious to set sail as soon as the wind abates,” he told Izar. “We have to find HMS Lively.”

  “Might not be so easy,” the navigator replied, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “We need repairs to the sails and rigging. We’ll have to pump water out of the hold, and several men have broken bones, sore heads and so on.”

  Santiago tried and failed to fathom how Izar had managed to hold on to his pipe and keep his tobacco dry through the hurricane. Unwilling to calmly accept the inevitable delays, he walked away from his navigator and joined Melchor on the fore-deck.

  Valentina’s father had been staring out to sea, but he turned to greet Santiago. “You’re familiar with this bay.”

  “Sí,” he replied. “We have hidden in these coves many times, along with other pirates. I’m surprised there aren’t more of them here.”

  “You know as well as I do, Capitán Velázquez, it was Divine Providence brought us safely to this very place.”

  Santiago admitted inwardly he had no other explanation for the miracle, but an inner voice advised caution. “I acknowledge the hand of Dios in our deliverance.”

  Melchor arched a brow. “There must be a hundred bays along the Cuban coastline, yet this is the one where something precious to you lies hidden.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Am I wrong?”

  There was no point hiding the truth if this perceptive man was to be his father-by-marriage. “No, you’ve guessed correctly.”

  “So what is your intention now?” Melchor asked bluntly.

  “Bueno, we could waste time retrieving the spoils, or we can pursue the real treasure—your daughter and my friend. Wealth means nothing to me compared to their safety.”

  Melchor laughed. “I believe you. However, you already know that it will be impossible for you and Valentina to prosper in Cuba without wealth. I, alas, have nothing to offer by way of a dowry, unless you are interested in lands in España, which I doubt.”

  “There was a time I itched to return to Spain, but now the New World is more appealing.”

  “Valentina feels the same way,” Melchor admitted wistfully. “She loved La Florida.”

  Santiago leaned against the ship’s wheel and watched Izar issuing orders, getting the crew organized to make the Santa María seaworthy again. The Basque had stepped into Christian’s shoes without hesitation. A good man. His crew were all good men who’d served him loyally and deserved the shares of the spoils they’d received.

  What would become of them when he married Valentina? Indeed, what would become of him? The hazards inherent in piracy had increased with the growing British presence along the Spanish Main. He couldn’t expect Valentina to be a pirate’s wife. Her father was right. If the treasure remained hidden, it was of no use to anyone.

  He clamped a hand on Melchor’s shoulder. “Let’s find some shovels.”

  Valentina awoke with a raging thirst. She didn’t think she’d said anything out loud but someone lifted her head. Liquid entered her mouth. Watery, but not water. Sweeter. She gulped too fast and began to cough; her ribs protested.

  “Easy,” a soft voice said. “It’s coconut milk.”

  She blinked and looked up into the smiling face of Santiago’s crewman hunkered down beside her, a pistol tucked in the waistband of tattered torusers. She nodded and accepted more of the fluid. “You saved my life,” she rasped.

  “I would have drowned if they hadn’t released us from the hold, and I suspect that was your doing. I’m Christian Williams, by the way.”

  She raised herself up on her elbows. “I recognized you as one of Santiago’s men. Where are we, Señor Williams?”

  “I’m not absolutely sure, though the palm trees along the beach are native to Cuba. The lay of the land looks vaguely familiar. The south coast, I think. Once the sun goes down, I’ll get my bearings from the stars. Now you’re awake, we can try to find help.”

  It was reassuring they might have washed up on Spanish territory, but that didn’t guarantee freedom from the men who’d abducted her. “Are there other survivors?” she asked as Christian helped her sit up.

  “All the Jamaicans, thanks to you. There’s no sign of Montserrat. A cabin boy survived, but the English captain is the only officer still alive, and he’s badly injured.”

  Relief surged that Collins lived. “We were swept overboard. Maybe there are others still with the ship.”

  He shook his head. “The Lively isn’t so lively any more.”

  She followed his gaze along the beach, unable to recognize the blackened wreck that lay at an odd angle, half buried in the sand. The masts were gone, the windows of the cabins in the stern shattered. Cannon hung precariously from some of the gun-ports whose doors had been ripped off. Splintered wood was strewn the length of the sands.

  Trembling at the destruction the awesome power of nature had wrought, Valentina stared in disbelief that she had somehow survived Armageddon. She gradually became aware of Collins kneeling nearby beside a man lying in the shade of a rocky overhang. “Maitland?” she asked.

  “Yes, but he won’t want you to see him.”

  The English captain had wronged her, but it appeared he had paid dearly for his sins. Her religion preached forgiveness. “Nevertheless, I must do what I can,” she replied.

  She struggled to her feet with Christian’s help, swaying uncertainly. “I’m a little light-headed,” she confessed, gripping his arm. “And my ribs are sore.”

  He chuckled. “My fault. I was determined not to let you drown.”

  They made their way slowly to where Maitland lay. Valentina’s heart broke when Collins looked up at her then went back to arranging the torn uniform jacket over his captain’s legs. She had a feeling the lad had retreated into himself, just staring but not really seeing. When she saw Maitland’s wounds, she understood why.

  Falling to her knees at his side, she admitted having no notion of how to help him. It was doubtful Maitland could even feel his legs. His open shirt revealed a ghastly belly wound, oozing blood. Fighting nausea, she looked up at Christian.

  “Skewered by a marlinspike,” he said softly.

  She didn’t know what a marlinspike was but could only surmise from the damage it was something long and sharp.

  Maitland blinked, smiling when he saw her. “Valentina,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. The effort brought on a fit of wheezing that contorted his ashen face in agony.

  “Do not try to speak,” she replied.

  He grasped her hand in a surprisingly strong grip, his smile twisted into a grimace. “You won’t see your little house in Jamaica.”

  “That’s not important. We will seek help, and…”

  He shook his head. “No, my dear, I’m done for. My ship is lost, my honor gone. At least it appears Montserrat has drowned.”

  As his grip loosened she took hold of his hand in both hers, knowing he spoke the truth. “What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

  “Give me a pistol.”

  The blood in her veins turned to ice. She looked to Christian for guidance.

  He hesitated for long minutes before handing his pistol to Maitland. “There’s only one ball.”

  �
��That’s all I’ll need,” the dying man replied.

  Satisfied the Santa María’s skiffs had both survived intact, Santiago selected Xiang and Izar to accompany him and Melchor in one of them. “I’m leaving the other here, just in case we don’t return,” he told Robertson. “You’re in charge in my absence.”

  The Scotsman saluted. “Aye.”

  Xiang climbed in and took up an oar.

  “Wait,” Melchor shouted. “What about the shovels?”

  Santiago chuckled. “Trust me. We won’t need them.”

  “But if we are digging for…”

  Santiago cut him off with a frown. “Who said anything about digging?”

  Melchor grasped the side of the skiff as the little boat encountered choppier waters. “So where are we going?”

  Santiago scratched the stubble under his chin, longing for a shave. “If memory serves, it’s not the next cove, but the one after that.”

  “If memory serves? You mean you’re not sure?”

  “It’s been a while. I was delayed in San Agustín.”

  Xiang laughed. “Ha, ha. Delayed. Good yoke.”

  Izar might have been smiling, but it was difficult to tell since he still sucked on his pipe despite having two hands on the oar.

  They rowed around the point and pulled into the neighboring cove. Santiago surveyed the cliffs beyond the beach for several minutes, but couldn’t pick out what he sought. “No. We’ll carry on,” he declared finally.

  “What are we looking for?” Melchor asked, sounding impatient.

  “A cave.”

  Valentina’s father shook his head. “The cliffs are riddled with them.”

  “But only one holds what we seek.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  LOCO

  “How many more coves are there in this bay?” Melchor asked, clearly exasperated after Santiago eliminated the fourth one they’d searched.

  “Three, or maybe four,” he replied, scratching the increasingly irritating stubble. Perhaps it was a sign they were getting closer, though he too was becoming frustrated. He should have paid more attention when he and Christian rowed away from the cave, congratulating themselves on their cleverness.

  “No wonder the Spanish navy couldn’t find your treasure,” Melchor muttered.

  They rounded the point.

  Izar opened his mouth and his pipe fell under the rowing bench.

  Melchor cursed and tried to kick it. “You’ll set us alight.”

  Seated with his back to the shore, Santiago wondered what had caused his navigator to drop the precious pipe. Izar scrambled to retrieve it from under Melchor’s feet.

  “Shipleck,” Xiang announced.

  Santiago twisted around, his belly churning at the sight of a blackened wreck half-buried in the sand. He made the sign of his Savior. Such could easily have been the fate of the Santa María.

  “Big sheep,” Xiang declared. “Blitish.”

  Santiago shaded his eyes to peer at the doomed ship. The number of damaged cannon certainly indicated it had been a navy vessel. Xiang’s ability to identify ships had always impressed him, but how the fellow could tell this was a British ship was beyond him.

  A movement caught his eye. “Pull in closer. Looks like there might be survivors on the beach.”

  They rowed into the shallows and waded to the beach. Only Xiang remained in the skiff.

  Santiago pulled out his pistol as he raked his gaze over the destruction. “I’m sure I saw someone, but it looks like they’ve taken cover. We’ll proceed with caution. If they are British…”

  Melchor also drew a pistol and pointed to a rocky overhang. “Is that a boy, in the shadows?”

  Valentina was frantic for the cabin boy. He’d refused to leave his stricken captain when Christian spotted the skiff entering the cove and urged them all into hiding in the dense brush.

  She moved a branch aside and took a quick look, alarmed to see the newcomers striding toward the lad who still knelt by Maitland.

  “Stay hidden,” Christian hissed. “These coves abound with pirates. Do you know what they do with women they capture?”

  Heart beating wildly, she ducked down, bothered by something about the men that seemed familiar.

  She crawled forward and risked another glimpse. One of the newcomers hunkered down beside Collins. She gasped when he took off his hat. There was only one man with hair so dark, so lustrous, so…

  Her gaze darted to his companion. He looked more like a pirate than a Spanish nobleman, and the wig was missing, but there was no mistaking the stance. She surged to her feet. “Papa!”

  Christian grabbed for her skirts. “Stay down.”

  The already torn fabric ripped when she pulled away. “It’s Santiago and my father,” she shouted, running as fast as she could in the sand.

  The man she loved came to his feet and turned. Then he was sprinting towards her, calling her name.

  She collapsed into his embrace. “Santi,” she breathed with her last ounce of strength.

  “Valentina,” he rasped, lifting her to his hard body. “I feared you were lost to me.”

  “I had lost hope until I met Christian,” she confessed. “He gave me courage and saved my life.”

  He looked along the beach. Christian was hurrying toward them, arms outstretched. Santiago’s grin of elation warmed her heart. “Forgive me, Cariña, I must…”

  “Go,” she urged, though the shivering had begun again without the reassuring warmth of his strong body.

  The two men came together in a jubilant embrace, slapping each other on the back, their loud laughter filling her with joy.

  She felt sobs shake her father when he put trembling hands on her shoulders. “Papa. Don’t cry. We are safe now,” she murmured, turning into his embrace.

  “Mi pequeña,” he whispered over and over. “My little one.”

  She vaguely heard someone shout a warning from the direction of the water.

  Suddenly, her father’s arms stiffened. She looked up, gasping at the sight of Maximilian Montserrat’s sneering face. He grinned as he cocked the pistol pressed against her father’s temple.

  Santiago cursed that Xiang’s warning had come too late. Montserrat appeared silently and suddenly from the shadow of the rock overhanging the beach. They had failed to secure the area. Now the former vice-governor held Melchor at gunpoint, Valentina still locked in her father’s embrace.

  Santiago took a step forward. “Put the pistol down,” he shouted.

  “Stay back.”

  “He’s gone mad,” Christian warned. “He’s the one who abducted us from Mosé, and he’s also responsible for this wreck. He forced the British captain into the fury of the hurricane.”

  Santiago swallowed hard, trying to silence the deafening pulse throbbing in his ears. The Raccoon seemed intent on killing Melchor, but he could just as easily turn the gun on Valentina. “What do you want?” he asked. “Your pistol has only one ball.”

  “That’s all I need,” came the reply. “I’ve long wished to get rid of this miserable excuse for a governor, and now’s my chance. It’s my duty to Cataluña.”

  “You’re right,” Santiago muttered to Christian. “He’s off his head. Loco.”

  “But we can’t let him kill Melchor.”

  Santiago stared hard at Valentina, willing her to step away, but she stood firm, her back ramrod straight. “Let her go,” he yelled, risking another step forward.

  Montserrat sneered. “Maybe I’ll kill two birds…”

  Without warning, Valentina shrieked a stream of curses and lunged at Montserrat. Gunfire erupted as he staggered sideways.

  Melchor fell to the ground, taking his daughter with him.

  Deafened by the explosion of gunpowder, Valentina fought for breath under her father’s weight. She struggled in vain against the shifting sand, intent on tearing Montserrat limb from limb for murdering her beloved papa.

  She froze when he murmured, “Stay still, Niña. I am not inj
ured.”

  In her frenzy, she supposed that meant the murderer had missed his mark, but could yet…

  Suddenly, the weight was lifted and she was scooped up in Santiago’s arms. “Amada,” he panted breathlessly, “Cariña. Are you hurt?”

  “No, but papa…”

  “I am fine,” came the reassurance. “Montserrat is dead.”

  She squinted into the sun. Her father stood beside Santiago, unharmed. The Raccoon lay face down on the sand, a bloody hole in his back.

  Christian retrieved the weapon from his death grip, then walked over to Collins. The lad stood with legs braced, a smoking pistol gripped firmly in both hands.

  Valentina had a vague recollection of seeing him out of the corner of her eye just before she shoved Montserrat. “What happened?” she asked as Santiago set her down.

  “He had to die,” the boy explained in English. “He killed my captain and wrecked my ship.”

  She was beginning to understand as Christian translated. “We thought Maitland wanted the gun to…”

  The lad swiped a sleeve across his nose. “He died a while ago. I just couldn’t leave him. I wanted to shoot Montserrat, but I was afraid of hitting you. When you shoved him, I had a clear shot.”

  “I remember seeing the boy,” she told Santiago, “but it didn’t register in my mind that he had a pistol.”

  “Yet something told you to push the Raccoon,” he replied.

  “I was just so angry,” she admitted. “He caused too much heartache and loss.”

  “I must say,” he teased, “I was surprised to hear such profanity coming out of the mouth of a well-bred Spanish noblewoman.”

  She felt the heat rise in her face. “I know. Manuela would be mortified.”

  Collins surrendered the pistol to Christian without a fuss. “I’ve lost my ship and my future,” he said. “Captain Maitland took me under his wing. Promised to make me a midshipman. Said I’d make a fine captain one day.”