A Kiss in the Wind (12 page)

Oh, she’d be a fool not to. She wanted to put on that grand dress. She wanted to feel like an aristocratic darling for one moment in her life. She wanted to leave him speechless when she swept into his chambers. Aye. That was what she wanted.

“Food will be waitin’.” Henri turned for the door.

“Be sure to have plenty of rum ready.” She had no doubt he expected her to keep his cup full.

“Lass?” Henri paused on his way out. “The Capt’n, he looks at ye differently than the others.” His brow pulled together and he nodded before closing the door behind him.

What do you suppose he meant by that?
She huffed. Blade could look at her with those emeralds and she would never know if he desired her or pitied her. She felt like a leper in his world of dancing harlots.

Tonight, though, she would at the very least be a well-frocked leper.

* * *

Blade sprang up from his chair. “This is ridiculous.” He stomped over to the windows and clasped his hands behind his back, kneading his fingers impatiently. “What is taking the lass so long?”

“Would ye like me to fetch her, Capt’n?” Henri sat at the table polishing the old broken flute he always carried with him.

“Nay. If she’s not here in the next five minutes, I’ll drag her to dinner myself.”

In the reflection of the window, Blade watched Henri steal another sip from the rum. He smiled. Bless the old fop’s soul, he would drink himself to death yet.

He looked to his own visage in the glass. There was something different about the man staring back at him. Something was missing. Tired eyes hinted to indecision. He didn’t like it. It fractured his character. He always had a plan, always knew what course he would take. Whether right or wrong had never been a concern. His will he held steadfast. In his occupation, doubt could be deadly.

Though he hadn’t had trouble making decisions on the spot, this day he scrutinized his every move with further thought. Since rolling out of bed, he toiled over and cursed each time he wondered if his actions had been the right one. Where was his buoyancy? Where had his confidence gone?

It went right down the hatch when you let Marisol into your bed, you idiot.

Smiling inwardly, he remembered the flare of rage in her eyes when he suggested she would be his serving girl. He preferred her fury over the profound sadness taking root. He understood the empty, soul-crushing pain of not being worthy of returned love far more than he cared to admit and he couldn’t stand to see her dwell on her no-good father any longer.

He raked a hand through his hair and growled. The chit seeped under his skin. She was bold and brash enough to be a part of his world, and all the while, sustaining her need for someone, a man, to protect her. That made him crazy.

He should have never taken her.

But he had. And he kept her. Now he struggled with whether or not that had been a good idea. ’Twas true having her on board held him an advantage. Only slightly. Past experience with Carrion proved the pirate to be a fickle man. He believed Carrion would go after the silver. Before or after Blade retrieved it was the burning question. Did he care enough about his daughter to avoid attacking Blade’s ship and seek the silver first? Perhaps he thought to barter for her with Blade for a higher price? Or would the captain consider her an unfortunate consequence to gaining the bounty?

The uncertainty chafed his resolve and aggravated him further.

He focused on what he did know. The
Gloria
had been boarded and stripped of her crew and cargo. Drake spotted a mystery ship in the area shortly after. The
Sugar Lady
sailed into Puerto Plata also about the same time and then set a course for Puerto Rico across the Mona Passage. Carrion’s
Sablewing,
too, docked in Puerto Plata. The port suffered an assault. The mystery ship attacked the
Sablewing
then escaped to the west. The
Gloria
also headed for the deadly currents of the passage.

Five vessels sailing straight into the vicious, hacking teeth of Mona. They best make their peace for not all would make it through.

Missing silver, rogue ships and hostile enemies. The challenge couldn’t be sweeter.

The eyes reflecting back at him regained their familiarity. Good. Confidence inflated within his chest again. A hearty meal with a lovely lady would top off his evening. If she ever arrived. Damn, where was she?

A brisk knock at the door and she rushed in like a crisp autumn breeze. Her beauty glittered through the mirrored image on the glass. She took his breath away, literally.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Blade suppressed his smile before he sharply turned on his heel.

She flustered in her haste and gave a proper but quick curtsy.

Henri stood, slower than normal, and ripping his wide eyes from her, fumbled to pour the cups—again. By the sideways glance he cast Blade, the little man probably thought he would be admonished for the double error of ogling Marisol and helping himself to too much drink.

“See your way out, Henri.” The jack sprat nodded and took his leave.

It was difficult to frown at her. She radiated in that gown. The golden color mingled with her warm skin and he wondered if the glow coming off her would burn to the touch.

“Do you find it appropriate to keep your host waiting?” he said.

Her eyes flashed with anger. “You try squeezing yourself into this contraption, with no one to help, mind you, and see how long it takes you.”

Ah, yes. There was that fire he so enjoyed to stoke. He chuckled and she lifted her chin. Her beauty would blind him as sure as the shining sun. Taking that risk, he soaked her in a moment longer before coming forward to pull out her chair. “You look exquisite, Marisol.”

A faint blush crept into her cheeks and her chin dropped a degree less defensive. Brown locks were secured at the crown of her head and the remaining flowing tresses tumbled down onto her shoulders and across her back. The flat plane of the boning on her dress gave way to curves he would not soon forget. The low cut of the dress fit snug against her chest, crushing two smooth mounds of flesh to near overflow. He cursed himself for not having a bejeweled necklace to lie upon that inviting bosom. He would need to procure one soon.

“Come. Sit.”

“Thank you.” Her dress billowed with a flourish as she took her seat.

He ladled out a bowl of turtle soup and set it before her and then scooped himself his own bowl. “Please, eat.”

Though the soup no longer steamed piping hot, it warmed his mouth, delighting his tongue with piquant spices. “’Tis good. Henri has made another fine meal.”

“Mmm.” She nodded. “I’d say this is the best turtle soup I’ve ever had. The garlic and onions, so flavorful. Is that a hint of lime I taste?”

Blade watched Marisol bring her spoon to her mouth. She flicked her tongue to catch a dribble of the soup on her lip, bringing a delicate finger up to wipe away what escaped. The innocent action sent an undercurrent of desire rippling below his belt. He shifted in his seat as she slipped her finger into her mouth.

Conversation was minimal while they ate. He found it near impossible to string intelligible words together while she sipped the broth and nibbled the meat. Midway through, she caught him staring. Their eyes locked and a grin edged up her lips.

She brought her spoon to her mouth again. Her gaze still on him, she puckered her lips and gently tipped the spoon to take in the juice.

Blade raised his eyebrows.
How tantalizing.
He swallowed his own spoonful of tangy broth, slowly dragging his tongue along the corner of his mouth, watching for her reaction. He smirked when she momentarily averted her stare downward.
Two could play at this game.

She reached for the smaller platter of figs and plantains in the middle of the table. Plucking a purple fig from the fruit, she captured his gaze once more before she brought it to her mouth. The fig disappeared behind her plump lips and she nipped off the stem.
Glory be!

He, too, selected a fig. Slowly he bit into the flesh and, chewing it leisurely, measured his success by the heat flushing up her neck.

Next, she picked a plantain from the tray. Peeling back the yellow and blackened skin, she flared a coy smile. If her seductive eyes burning into him from underneath those dark lashes were not enough to send him to explode like a flash pot, those lips wrapped around the banana surely would. Sweet, merciful heaven.

“Belay,” he hissed. “’Tis quite enough sporting.”

Marisol smiled, a wonderful smile that brimmed with pride. She had bested him. He wouldn’t deny it. His rum ran dangerously low as he chased away wicked visions and hoped to numb his mischievous merrymaker, already causing him a certain amount of discomfort straining at the fabric of his trousers.

“Oh,” Marisol said, “your drink.” She rose from her place at the table and brought the flagon of liquor to him. “I’ve got to earn my keep.” She winked and bent forward to fill his tankard.

The way she leaned in, the angle to which she bent, brought her chest eye-level and dangerously close. He ground off the first layer of his teeth. Damn. In another moment, he’d take his arm to sweep everything off the table, throwing Marisol down on top to feast upon. He had to get her out of his cabin. Now.

“What do you say we take a stroll topside?” He stood and threw back his rum in one fast quaff.

“A fine idea. Fresh air would be nice.” Setting down the flagon, she moved to the door. The spring in her step made her backside sway with exaggerated flare.

Indeed. Fresh air to cool off my carnal heat.

He grabbed her cup and finished off the liquor before following her out the hatch.

Outside the air was warm and pleasant. Blade hardly noticed. He had been too distracted with the well-deserved low whistles and gawking stares from his crew as Marisol passed by them. No man would dare make an advance on the captain’s lady but he couldn’t ignore the iron spears of annoyance at the attention. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and, with the other, guided her by her elbow to the front of the ship.

Off the starboard bow, they watched the sun dip below a vast valley of sagging clouds. The large orb’s bright light stained the clouds in colorful hues of pinks and purples and violent shades of orange.

“’Tis beautiful,” Marisol said.

He admired her peaceful smile, her glittering eyes. In the dying light, she was even more spectacular. “It doesn’t compare to you, dove.”

She turned to him. Surprise shimmered across her face like newly minted doubloons. Quickly, she looked back to the sunset. “The sky is turning so red.”

Blade tore his appreciation away to the setting sun. The deeper it sank, the darker the sky blazed with fire. He took notice of the clouds. They stretched across the eastern horizon in front of them, growing fast and rolling in low.

A gust of wind scooped in from behind them, lifting her hair to skip across her face. “Mercy. Where’d that come from?” she said.

Above, Blade watched as the clouds raced in a broad arc toward the dark wall of an advancing squall line. Realization slapped him like a nasty ill-begotten bastard son.

“Hell-fire.”

“What?” Marisol asked. “What is it?”

“We’re heading straight…” he let out a long frustrated breath and shook his head, “…straight for a bloody hurricane.”

Blade took advantage of the winds for as long as he felt he safely could. The
Rissa
skimmed along the passage at a swift pace. But the sails began to twist with the whipping gales and the sea had grown much more wrathful. The sails had to be furled and fastened before it became too dangerous to maneuver on the yards. Everything had been battened down, all lights and the cooking fire extinguished, and everyone ordered down below.

The ocean swells reached high enough to lick away any of his men from the deck. Only he, Willie and the helmsman remained topside. They struggled to secure the wheel with rope to keep the rudder from being free to spin the
Rissa
around in the vicious water.

“Make sure you tie it tight,” Blade called. He shouted but the howling wind shrieking in his ears snatched away his words. He only knew that Willie had heard him by the man’s nod.

Two ropes held the wheel fixed firmly. It strained to turn one way then the other, jerking to either side that would give. Another rope had been tied to the helmsman to keep him from washing overboard while he held the wheel steady and on a somewhat easterly course, the same direction as the winds.

Blade shielded his eyes from the driving force of the rain smarting across his cheeks and peered at the masts. He’d never been much of a religious man but he wondered if it would be too late to start praying.
Please don’t let those masts break.
Nay. That sounded too much like begging. Something he despised. Nevertheless, the wind wasn’t his only enemy.

In the dark with the blinding horizontal rain, he couldn’t see far. Flashes of blue lightning revealed black swells rising high up from the sea like abysmal cloaks. He caught glimpses of frothy, white foam cresting the mountainous waves only to be blown off and disappear into the next growing surge. The sea could easily swat the
Rissa
from her back, open up and wipe any trace of his ship and crew away in her wrath. But not tonight. He would do his best to deny her their souls.

His legs ached as he shifted his weight with the rocking ship but he checked the strength of the ropes one last time. Satisfied, Blade motioned for Willie to head below deck to relative safety. He followed Willie along a lifeline rope tied across the breadth of the ship to the hatch, about to step in after him. An ominous ripple in the fabric of the mourning wind caused Blade to pause. He looked out over the larboard side. A massive wave crashed over the side, knocking him off his feet. The force slammed Blade into the other side of the ship. Excruciating pain ripped through his shoulder. He couldn’t move his arm.
Damn it.

He sucked in a hard breath of waterlogged air at the agony. He had to get up, get off topside before another wave carried him overboard and met his death with the sea. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to go with her.

Coughing, he turned over to his knees. He pushed himself up with his good arm, reached for the lifeline and staggered toward the hatch. Slipping once, he smashed his injured shoulder into the wall by the doorway. He hissed a string of profanities at the stabbing ache before stepping into the windless companionway.

Blade latched the door, muzzling the screaming wind which yelled at him from beyond like a spiteful banshee. He took a moment to ease his breathing and adjust to the darkness unburdened by rain. Salty water streamed down into his eyes and burned. He shook his head to get rid of the excess water in his hair. The throb in his shoulder compelled him to keep his arm close to his body as he worked his way down to the galley. Blade knew his ship well enough, but should he become disoriented, he’d only need to listen to the sounds of pathetic moans to find his way through the dark.

* * *

Marisol kneeled next to Sam who was doubled over a chamber pot. The mighty man had been heaving most of the night. He moaned and groaned like a wee child. The violent pitch of the ship had given poor Sam and several other men nausea. If there’d been more light, she was certain the mammoth would be green from sickness. She rubbed the plateau of his back hoping to bring him ease.

“Shh,” she said. “Shh. You’ll be all right.”

Now that she had settled down from helping Henri snub out the lights, her own stomach grew squeamish. The lingering odor from the smothered cooking fire churned atop her queasiness. She swallowed it down. There was nothing more to do but wait for the storm to pass.

The
Rissa
creaked and sighed as she protested the fury outside. She rose and fell, jounced and jolted as a coach might along a craggy hillside road. The terrible ride rattled Marisol’s bones and nerves.

Squalls were bad enough, but hurricanes were a seaman’s worst nightmare. Marisol had heard the tales from old sea dogs about vessels snapping in two during a storm, of ships bursting into flames from a carelessly lit lantern, of ballasts shifting and overturning ships, the sea claiming all on board. Only a lucky few ships survived. These stories scared Marisol much more than the superstitious yarns she kept close to her heart. They were real threats with fatal results.

In her two years of sailing with Alain, they’d encountered a few gales and rode them out in fair shape. And she had weathered more than one hurricane in her life, but only onshore. The fierce winds and raging seawater flooding past the coastline and into the portside town, into her mother’s home, frightened her. As a young girl, she watched many die from a hurricane’s destruction. Yet, the horrific storms were accepted as a part of life in the Caribbean. Youthful naiveté fooled her into thinking the safest place to be during a hurricane was on a ship. She knew better now. The odds weren’t in their favor and the shuddering
Rissa
sharpened that awareness. Worry buried itself deep within her. The feeling of helplessness bothered her most of all. She preferred far more battling for her life with a foe than struggling to survive against the deadly throes of nature.

A loud thud pulsated throughout the room and the vessel rolled to the right. She braced herself with the sudden shift. Damn. That had to be one awful wave. Fear skittered up her spine with the breath she held.

Her thoughts raced to Blade. Where was he? Was he all right? Oh dear God, what if he’d been swept away? She hadn’t seen him since he ordered her below to change her clothing and report to Henri to give him a hand. He’d been so severe in his command, so unyielding; she’d flinched under his tone and followed his orders without a word. But that had been hours ago.

She glanced over at Henri huddled in the corner. He’d been nursing that bottle of rum for a good spot of time. Had it not been for her uneasy stomach, she’d wrestle him for the blasted thing. It wouldn’t be much of a contest against the old man and she needed a crisp shot of courage.

Where was Blade? Did he mean to stay out there throughout the entire storm? She had to know if he was safe. Perhaps she should go check on him. She slid her gaze from the rum bottle to the door and back again to the bottle of courage. Henri let out a slow growl and pulled the bottle tight to his chest. Crazy fool.

“How about a sip of that there rum, Henri?” Sam let out a pitiable moan as she moved away from him and set her sights on the liquor.

Henri cradled the rum closer. “Doncha think about it, lass. You won’t be havin’ any of this.”

“Come now. Just one sip.” The wooden floor bit into her knees as she shuffled on them toward his corner.

“I mean it. Stay back.” He arched his back as far as the curvature of the wall would allow.

Almost there. “One sip, Henri.”

He’d sat up on his knees ready to protect his lifeblood. “No.”

She reached out, grabbing the neck of the bottle. “Give me one sip!”

“No!” His chin jutted defiantly out at her and his grip on the bottle wouldn’t loosen. They yanked it back and forth between them. Blimey. He was stronger than she first thought.

“Let go.” She all but screeched the words through her clenched teeth. “I’ll yank out those ribbons in your beard if you don’t.”

He sneered at her. “No.”

The dark did not keep their eyes from locking in battle.

“By thunder, Henri, let go of the damned bottle.”

“Ten thousand curses to ya, lass! Ten thousand curses!”

The galley door slammed open. A shadowy figure loomed against an inky backdrop before reeling forward.

“Blade,” Marisol said.

She slackened her grip from the liquor and Henri snatched it back, hugging it. He took a quick swig, keeping his eyes on her, and then returned to wrapping both arms around it.

“Humph,” she mumbled.

The ship took a quick slope and Blade spat out a curse as he caught his balance on the door jamb. He clutched at his arm. He held it oddly forward and crooked.

“Are you all right?” Clamoring to her feet, she hurried to him. Something, or someone, caught on her foot and she toppled forward, knocking him back into the jamb once more.

Blade hissed in apparent pain. “Damn, woman!”

“I’m so sorry.” She righted herself and reached out for him. “Are you hurt?” Pawing her way over his wet clothes, she searched for any signs of injury. A gash, spurting blood, foreign objects sticking out of his body, anything that pointed to a wound.

He scudded down the wall away from her. “Marisol, stop.”

His tone sounded irritable but she continued her examination. “Are you cut? Bleeding anywhere? I’m very good at suturing, you know.”

“I said stop.” He recoiled before she touched him. “I dislocated my shoulder.”

“Oh, that probably hurts. Here let me help you.”

“No!” His hand shot out to keep her back. Was that panic she detected? “I’ve got it.”

“You’ve got it? No, no. I’ll help you.”

“Marisol! Stand—back.”

She couldn’t see his face clearly but gauging by the shadows across his mouth and his clipped words, he meant to push her down if she didn’t obey him. She gave him his distance.

He stumbled back to the door and held on to the threshold for balance when the vessel took another deep dip. The ship’s anguished moan had only been topped by Sam’s whimper.

Biting her lower lip, she braced herself against the table behind her, more to prime herself for what Blade prepared to do than because of the shifting vessel. He rocked back and forth, aiming his shoulder at the jamb. Her body tensed. In one blink of an eye, he whacked his shoulder into the threshold with such force that she heard the crack in his arm over his roar. She cringed with his medley of profanity.

The ship had grown silent. She continued to roll with the sea and the winds kept up their howling and beatings. But no one inside the galley breathed a word. Not even the sick whined. Blade staggered to the corner Henri had wedged himself into.

“Hand it over.” Salt water dripped from the sleeve of Blade’s waiting hand.

Henri lifted the rum to his captain.

“Nay. The other bottle, Henri. The one you’re hiding.”

Without hesitation, Henri reached behind himself for an unopened bottle.

Marisol shook her head. She should’ve known the greedy little lunatic had more stashed.

The cork popped out under the twist of Blade’s hand and he drew long and hard from the liquor. “Ah. That’s better. Nothing like a tipple to wash your mind clean.” He took another swig and rolled his arm around, letting the rum grease his joints. Crouching down, he plopped to the floor and propped his back against the wall next to Henri.

“Come.” He invited her to join him, patting the floor as he drew his knees up.

Careful not to topple him again, she sat down beside him. Even in the stifling room, she welcomed his masculine warmth. She hadn’t realized how chilled she had become. How strange. They swayed together with the rocking ship. Each time their shoulders touched the comforting warmth seeped through her, despite his cool wet clothing.

Blade handed her the rum bottle and she gleefully took it. The heavy liquor slid down her throat with hellish heat. Oh, how good it tasted. She licked her lips and swallowed another mouthful. Another drink and it swirled within her blood to chase away her anxiety. Bending forward a hair to look past Blade, she shot Henri a satirical smirk. Henri pursed his mouth, shook his head and scooted to give her his back.

“You must be frightened,” Blade said.

Couple more rounds with the liquor and she’d be afraid of nothing at all. Not even a wasp. And she hated those. “Aren’t you?” She returned his rum.

“Of dying? No. The sea is my life. I am a part of her as I live and breathe. Should she no longer favor me and call me back to her womb, I shall be at peace.” He let the bottle dangle by two fingers between his knees.

“Then what are you frightened of?” she asked.

“I’m not frightened of anything.”

“You were angry enough when I stole your cameo.” She shouldn’t have brought it up. She’d gone too far and she couldn’t stop herself. “Enough to be scared you’d never see it again.” Her last word cracked as his face jerked around to stare through the darkness at her.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

“No.” Why would she say something so careless? It was as if she challenged his honor as a man.

The ship bucked and several metal cups fell from their secured place on a shelf. As they rolled over one another across the floor, the clanking and clattering rang loud in her ears. A lad swore and they came to an abrupt stop.

The quiet that followed compelled her to ask the question that plagued her mind. “Do you think we’ll survive?”

Less harsh than before, Blade answered. “The
Rissa
is a strong ship. She’ll hold. Though we’re at the mercy of the storm, we’re sailing with the winds into deeper waters.” He placed a hand over hers and droplets trickled from his sleeve to slip between his fingers onto her own. “We’ll be fine.”

She tried to search his eyes. Even in the shadows, they held a ray of confidence. Beads of water dripped from the tips of his mussed hair, traveling down thin rivulets on his cheek and neck. His soaked tunic lay pasted against his broad chest and his sodden breeches cast a sheen stretched tight over his thighs. He looked positively handsome.
Oh, mercy’s sake. Here we are in dire straits and I’m admiring him like a fine-crafted piece of weaponry.