The Marauder (Pirates of Britannia Book 11)

by Anna Markland

  Santiago offered his hand. “I thank you for saving the lives of people I love. We will see you safely returned to British soil.”

  Collins shrugged, seemingly not caring.

  She understood the lad’s apparent reluctance. He’d lost the man who’d given him refuge, and hope. The powers that be in the Royal Navy would likely send him back to England, if they bothered with him at all.

  “Will you help me bury my captain?” he asked.

  Santiago nodded. “Of course. But a high-ranking commander should be buried at sea.”

  For the first time, Collins smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  SUNKEN TREASURE

  Under the watchful eye of Collins, Santiago and Christian wrapped Maitland’s body in a length of torn sail discovered in the wreck and carried it above the tide line.

  Seemingly satisfied, the boy sat cross-legged on the sand next to his captain.

  Christian pulled Santiago aside. “Now’s our chance to retrieve the treasure. The others will be busy for a while combing over the wreck. We can be back before they know we’re gone.”

  Santiago nodded. “You perceive my thoughts correctly. Only trouble is I didn’t recognise any of the coves we passed.”

  His friend chuckled. “Probably because it’s the next one.”

  Santiago slapped his forehead. “Dios mío, I was preoccupied.”

  Christian glanced to the rocky overhang where Valentina sat in the shade with her father. “I understand. We should take them with us.”

  “Why not Xiang?”

  “In case we decide to leave part of it for a future time. Someone else should know. And who better than a wife?”

  “About that,” Santiago began.

  “Say no more. I’m happy for you. Perhaps one day I’ll find the right woman. Now, the tide’s coming in and we must seize the day. The Melchors will have to move soon.”

  It was important to explain to his friend that he didn’t intend to abandon his loyal crew, but time was of the essence. He strode over to help Valentina to her feet, glad to see color had returned to her cheeks. “Ready for an excursion in the skiff?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Back to the Santa María?”

  He glanced at Melchor. “No. Another errand.”

  Her father brushed sand from his bedraggled trousers. “Come along, daughter. This is going to be interesting.”

  Valentina clutched the side of the skiff with one hand, glad of her father’s arm around her shoulders.

  Santiago and Christian plied the oars, pulling against the inrushing tide that brought with it debris and seaweed.

  She closed her eyes, fervently hoping they wouldn’t encounter bodies as they ventured into deeper water. She filled her lungs, tamping down the memory of the terrifying ordeal of the hurricane. The fear of drowning had to be overcome if she was to marry a seafaring man.

  The temptation to watch the muscles of Santiago’s arms tense and relax as he rowed was too great. She opened her eyes and flared her nostrils, filled with a lunatic urge to lick the chiseled chest revealed by his open shirt.

  Her gaze flitted momentarily to Christian. He was a fine looking man, strong and beautifully made. She grieved for the obscene brand on his bicep. What was it that dictated one man enjoy freedom and the other be treated as a chattel? Christian was living proof the color of a man’s skin had no bearing on his character or worth.

  She looked again at Santiago. Heat rushed through her veins when she realized he was watching her, a hint of a lustful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Another of life’s mysteries struck her. Santiago never failed to arouse feelings of desire. It was alchemy that drew them to each other.

  Trapped in his gaze, she barely noticed they had stopped rowing. The tide was carrying them into a small cove. “There’s no beach,” she remarked as they came closer and closer to the cliffs. “How will you land the skiff?”

  Her father’s arm tightened around her shoulders as the mouth of a cave suddenly loomed. “Hold on.”

  “Keep your heads down,” Santiago shouted as they maneuvered the small boat into the cave.

  Her throat tightened. The roof seemed to be pressing down on them, the splash of oars echoing off the rock. Had she survived a hurricane to drown here?

  Then they drifted into a cavern, the only sound the lap, lap of gentle waves. The water was clear, yet she couldn’t see the bottom.

  She startled when the side of the skiff scraped against rock, her heart racing even faster as Santiago and Christian began peeling off their shirts. “What are you doing?”

  Santiago removed his boots, leaned forward and handed her his shirt. “Stay here. We won’t be long.”

  Stay? Where could they go? He was leaving them? To drown? The boat rocked when she struggled to stand, but her father held her fast. “Trust him,” he murmured.

  She clutched the shirt to her breast, scarcely able to breathe when Santiago and Christian slipped silently into the clear waters and disappeared below the surface.

  Santiago had spent most of his life on the sea, but had never been a strong swimmer. Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go before reaching a rocky shelf that jutted out of the water. They heaved themselves onto it, gulping air.

  He raked back wet hair, then fisted his hands on his hips, steadying his breathing as he stared up into the cavernous gallery that loomed above them. The ceiling and walls twinkled with pinpoints of the light creeping in from a crevice too high to see.

  “Seems like only yesterday,” he whispered with a smile, remembering the first time they’d happened upon the natural grotto by chance. “Little did we know when we embarked on that adventure that such a wondrous thing could even exist.”

  Christian nodded. “To be honest, there were times I despaired of ever returning here. Hopefully, we can find the handholds.”

  They felt their way slowly up a column of rock, finally reaching a narrow plateau.

  “They’re still here,” Santiago exclaimed breathlessly, giddy with elation that the two small chests of treasure they’d tucked beneath the overhang years before were safe.

  He scarcely noticed the roughness of the rock as they crept to pull one of the chests from its hiding place. “The hinges and hasp are rusting, but other than that…”

  “Looks pretty good.” The large padlock disappeared in Christian’s big hand as he yanked it back and forth. “Good as new.”

  “We’ll break it open once we get back to the ship,” Santiago said. “Shall we leave the other one here?” he asked.

  His first mate nodded.

  Having both tacitly decided that would be the best course of action, they hoisted the chest onto Christian’s broad shoulders and Santiago led the way as they began the tricky climb down.

  “They’ve drowned,” Valentina sobbed. “It’s been too long.”

  Her father stroked her hair. “Have faith,” he replied for what seemed like the tenth time, but she heard the doubt creeping into his voice.

  She couldn’t bring herself to look into the deep water, afraid Santiago’s lifeless body might float up. “I don’t understand why he would leave me,” she whimpered.

  “He hasn’t left you,” her father replied impatiently.

  Despair took hold. “Perhaps this is where I am destined to die,” she wailed, uttering a startled, “Oh,” when Santiago and Christian broke the surface together.

  Perhaps she was dreaming. The skiff rocked alarmingly when she reached out to touch him.

  “Keep still, Cariña,” he urged breathlessly, gripping the side with one hand. “We’re going to lift something heavy into the boat.”

  Her father scrambled to help settle what looked like a chest into the bottom of the skiff.

  She gripped the bench as Santiago and Christian heaved themselves back aboard, both grinning like idiots. “What were you thinking?” she cried. “I thought you were dead. Why would you take such a risk for a rusty old chest?”

  Santiag
o laughed, and she suddenly felt very silly. “What is it?” she asked sheepishly.

  “Your future,” her father replied.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  PIGLET

  The tide was high when they made it back to the wreck of the Lively. Waves lapped at the broken hull of the stricken ship.

  Collins had come to his feet and was nervously watching the water’s progress as it surged closer to his dead captain’s body.

  Xiang, Izar and the surviving slaves had retreated to the same area.

  Everybody except the cabin boy gathered round, chattering excitedly when Santiago and Christian pulled the skiff up onto the tiny strip of beach and hefted the chest onto the sand.

  Santiago stepped back into the boat, scooped up Valentina and carried her to the beach, amused that she still sulked at him for not explaining what he was up to. “Don’t be angry,” he pleaded, though his cock seemed to find her pout arousing. “I simply wanted to surprise you, and it wasn’t guaranteed the chests would still be there.”

  She frowned, but didn’t pull away though he was soaking wet. “Chests? There’s more than one?”

  He put a finger to his lips. “Our secret,” he whispered with a grin.

  “I told you to trust him,” her father said, climbing out of the skiff. “Now, what’s the plan for getting back to the Santa María?”

  Santiago shaded his eyes and surveyed the scene. The bodies of three more sailors, presumably pulled from the wreckage, lay next to a pile of odds and ends salvaged from the Lively—crockery, lengths of rope, a couple of swords, several pairs of boots, a lantern, and various articles of clothing spread out to dry.

  There was no sign of Montserrat’s corpse.

  He startled when Valentina shouted, “He’s alive.”

  Next thing he knew, she was running towards a piglet tethered to a palm tree, busy rooting for something in the undergrowth.

  He caught up to her just as she fell to her knees next to the animal, tears streaming down her face.

  “I didn’t think pigs could swim,” she hiccupped.

  Xiang approached, rubbing his hands together. “Make good dinner for you and Capitán,” he declared.

  Valentina clenched her jaw. “Absolutely not.”

  Melchor clamped a hand on Santiago’s shoulder. “I’m not sure why my daughter cares about the pig, but it looks like one more passenger for the skiff. You stay here with Valentina, I’ll organize the rest.”

  Santiago was too exhausted and elated to try to work out how his arch-enemy had become his staunchest supporter. For now he was simply relieved Melchor had taken charge.

  Glad of the shade of the palm tree beneath which she sat, Valentina watched the tide slowly ebb.

  Her father, Christian and Izar had crammed the slaves abducted from Mosé into the skiff and disappeared round the point.

  Beside her, Santiago had dozed off and was snoring softly, his fingers firmly entwined with hers.

  She would never forget his resurgence from the deep, his bare torso glistening, wet trousers clinging to his powerful frame. The cave’s cocooning atmosphere added to the intensity of the memory.

  Grunting happily, piglet rooted about nearby for a tasty morsel.

  Muttering in his own language, no doubt about the pig, the Chinese sailor had wandered to the point, watching for the return of the skiffs from the Santa María.

  A warm wind rustled the leaves of the palm tree. The unmistakeable scent of the sea stole up her nostrils, along with the easily identifiable odor of pig. She leaned closer to Santiago, preferring the aroma of wet wool and bronzed skin drying in the sun.

  Not far away lay the bodies of four men wrapped in torn canvas, thankfully in the shade.

  A homeless boy sat on the sand, staring out to sea as he grieved his dead captain and his shipmates.

  Santiago’s other hand was looped in the rusting handle of a small chest whose contents she could only guess at. It likely contained treasure plundered from Spanish ships.

  A risky voyage and an uncertain future in La Habana still loomed.

  Her strict upbringing as the daughter of a well-to-do Spanish family should have stirred outrage, disgust and consternation in her breast.

  She had never felt more peacefully contented.

  Santiago was glad of a chance to doze for a short while before undertaking the next stage in their odyssey—the voyage to La Habana in a damaged ship. The city had only recently been handed back to the Spanish authorities after the British occupation. There was no way of knowing what awaited them.

  However, he was fully aware of the young woman whose hand he held tightly. She was more precious to him than the chest resting nearby, though its contents were important for their future together.

  He’d known from their first meeting that Valentina was a rare beauty, a woman to stir a man’s passions, but how could he have known then of her courage and resilience, her compassion?

  She’d weathered an abduction, a hurricane, a shipwreck, and the attempted murder of her father. She’d reached out to young Collins and done her best to console him. She’d wept for the dead sailors, rejoiced with the freed slaves and challenged the inscrutable Xiang for the life of a pig.

  Yet here she sat beside him on a lonely beach, sighing contentedly.

  She’d even laughed off his underwater escapade—eventually.

  He’d frivolously teased women in Sevilla, principally because it was expected of a sophisticated nobleman. He relished the prospect of teasing Valentina until she sulked and then kissing away the sexy pout.

  “Skeef, ho,” Xiang shouted.

  “Two small boats,” Valentina said, “rowed by Christian and Izar.”

  A short time later, they rode the tide out of the cove. One skiff, with Izar and Xiang at the oars, carried Collins, two bodies and the salvaged hoard, including the pig.

  Valentina sat aboard the second skiff, the chest tucked beneath her bench, two bodies at her feet. She looked over her shoulder at the wreck until they’d rounded the point. Santiago wanted to sit beside her, to kiss away the tears when she turned to face him again, but he and Christian were plying the oars.

  His friend reached for Santiago’s oar. “Sit with her. I can manage.”

  He picked his way carefully and put an arm around her shoulders. “You survived, that’s the important thing.”

  “Only thanks to Christian,” she said softly, smiling at his first mate. “Many others died. I don’t understand why Montserrat insisted on sailing into the hurricane.”

  “Was he anxious, perhaps, to reach the safety of British territory?”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “He may have thought some rich reward for his spying awaited him.”

  “I suppose we’ll never know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  CONSIGNED TO THE DEEP

  Valentina stood beside her father on the fore-deck of the Santa María. She inhaled the salty air, relishing the warm zephyr on her face. “It’s difficult to believe this is the same sea whipped into a frenzy by the hurricane just a few days ago,” she said.

  “Verdad,” he replied, nodding to uprooted trees along the shore. “But you can see evidence of its destructive power in some of the coastal villages we’ve passed.”

  She stared at the island that would soon be her home.

  Her father must have sensed her trepidation. “Don’t worry, La Habana is a far cry from these remote places on the south coast.”

  “Hopefully not too big though,” she replied.

  “Smaller than Madrid, I’m told,” he promised with a wink, “but just as dirty, and a lot noisier.”

  Despite his good-natured jesting, she realized there would be challenges, but they faded in importance when the funeral ceremony began on the deck below.

  Santiago led the way, his tricorn pressed to his heart. He was about to preside over the burial of men who were his enemies, yet his bearing bespoke dignity and respect. Behind him came crewmen bearing the still-shroude
d bodies of Maitland and his officers. Collins brought up the rear.

  The sad procession lined up beside the ship’s rail.

  Her heart went out to the youth who stood ramrod-straight, fists clenched at his side. “He’s too young to have experienced so much pain and death.”

  The lad had confided to her horrific tales of his life before he’d joined the Royal Navy, bringing into clear focus how privileged and protected she’d been as the daughter of a high ranking nobleman. It made her more appreciative of Manuela’s tyrannical methods, and her parents’ indulgence.

  “He must be anxious about going to La Habana,” her father remarked. “The inhabitants won’t have much love for the English.”

  “Then we’ll protect him,” she retorted.

  Her father chuckled. “Him and the pig, I suppose.”

  She gripped his arm as Maitland’s body was lifted to a platform specially rigged atop the ship’s rail. Santiago made a brief pronouncement, but his words were lost on the wind. Her throat constricted when he looked to Collins for the signal to proceed.

  The boy saluted. “Farewell, my captain,” he shouted, before nodding to the sailors on the platform.

  Valentina and her father as well as many of the crew made the sign of the Savior as Maitland’s body was heaved into the clear waters of the Caribbean Sea.

  Relieved when the last of the corpses had been consigned to the deep, Santiago replaced his tricorn and offered his hand to Collins. “You did well.”

  The lad clenched his jaw and looked out to sea.

  Santiago regretted his next words, but they had to be said. “Now it’s time to look to the future. I suggest you dispense with your Royal Navy uniform before we sail into La Habana on the morrow.”

  Collins nodded resignedly.

  “You have a decision to make,” Melchor said after joining them. “If you wish to return to the British Navy, we’ll make the necessary inquiries to get you to La Florida somehow.”