A Kiss in the Wind (13 page)

She pulled her hand from under his. “You should get out of your wet clothes.”

“Not unless you get out of yours.” He reached over and looped a finger through the bow closing the top of her tunic and gently tugged.

“Tyburn!”

“What? Oh, come on. The lads won’t mind. Might lift their spirits. Especially Sam over there. Just listen to the poor sap moanin’ and carrying on.” She glanced over at the dark lump across the room, gripping on to the chamber pot for dear life. “He could use a beautiful naked woman to get his mind off his seasickness.”

If it weren’t for the flash of his teeth flanked by darkened dimples, she’d have taken him seriously, the devil.

“Well, since you put it that way.” She pulled at the lace of her shirt, slowly letting it slide through the bow until it slipped free. “If it’ll make the men feel better…we’re all about to die anyway.” She untied the laces farther, watching Blade’s smile disappear.

“All right, Marisol.” He stopped her from loosening her top any more.

“But you said—”

“Never mind what I said.” Reaching over, he tied her tunic closed.

His fingers grazed her skin above the valley of her chest. Something inside her inflated. It started out small, unidentifiable, but then grew. Was Blade afraid she called his bluff? Was he suddenly possessive? Did he care for her enough to want to keep her moral character intact? Her stomach fluttered. Was that it? Did he care about her?

He finished making the bow and pulled it tighter than necessary.

She chuckled. “You really should get on some dry clothes.”

“They’ll just get wet again later.”

She understood. He’d go topside to check on the helmsman and the condition of his ship.

Despite the raging storm outside and the convulsing ship, Marisol fought against exhaustion. She yawned. Tension and anxiety wound tightly in her muscles. It had been a terribly long day and the vengeful night seemed to never have an end. They may all very well perish before sunrise—the fact rebounded in her mind. The ship’s continual tossing and the waves beating at the hull made it impossible to rest. Yet sleep drew at her eyelids and another yawn surfaced.

“You need sleep.” Blade pulled off his tunic and wrapped his arm around her. He stretched his legs out as he pulled her close. “Lay your head on my shoulder.”

Gladly. There was comfort there so near to him. In his warmth, cradled within his embrace, breathing in his brackish heat, the hurricane no longer mattered. Their impending demise evaporated. She snuggled closer and let her lids fall.

He stroked her arm. “That’s right, sleep, dove. Sleep.”

At some point in the early hours he must have left her. Voices carried her from the edge of a deep slumber and she became aware of the wooden planks beneath her arms where she had her head tucked. Opening her eyes, she uncurled her body and realized the ship had stilled. Footsteps hurried past in the companionway. No one remained in the galley.

The storm. It passed. We made it out alive.

She scrambled to her feet and raced to get outside. The early morning light choked against the cloudy sky and hazy sea. Gusts of wind sputtered briefly then died off in unremarkable gasps. A quick inspection of the ship revealed that she had fared well during the hurricane, just as Blade said she would. The spanker yard had twisted and broken and was significant enough to need immediate repair but any other damage to the ship she could not see. Men worked to secure the yard but many of the crew stood at the railings.

What were they all looking at? They spoke quietly amongst themselves and as she neared the side of the ship, something in the water caught her attention.

In the sea scattered across the choppy waves, debris floated by. Planks of wood, barrels, and pieces of shredded sail bobbed with the currents, bumping with muted thuds against the
Rissa
’s hull. And bodies. Marisol sucked at her breath. Lifeless bodies of men, facedown with their arms spread out quietly gliding atop the sea like the birds in the sky, drifting on without any disparity among the wreckage.

She cupped her hands together and brought them to her mouth. Sadness consumed her. How horrible for them. They surely suffered. She fought back the tears and desperately swallowed at the lump that burned in her throat.

“Who…” Her voice mangled and she could say no more.

Loud voices thankfully prodded her to the flurry of activity on the other side of the ship’s waist. She moved with the crowd and pushed her way to the front.

“Careful, lads. Don’t lose him.” Willie leaned way over the rail, looking straight down. “Careful, I say! You’re gonna lose him.”

Three men pulled at a rope and a fourth stood at the railing with a long hook ready to snag the catch. Blade waited beside Willie. With his hands resting on his hips, he paced the perimeter. He paused to watch the men’s progress then returned to pacing. The man swung the hook down to capture a body.

“That’s right, get him in the trousers.” Willie reached over and grabbed a man’s shirt collar to help haul him over the rail. Together, they heaved the body up and dropped it to the deck.

Marisol closed her eyes with the sopping wet thump the man made hitting the planks.

“It’s Duncan all right, Capt’n,” Willie said.

Blade took one knee beside the dead man. He swiped away the matted hair on the man’s forehead. Marisol then saw the wound. A fleshy hole gaped in his brow.

“Just as I suspected,” Blade said. “He’s been shot. By the looks of many of those bodies out there, they all were shot.”

“Aw, hell.” Willie rubbed the back of his neck.

“What?” Did she hear Blade right? Shot? These men didn’t drown in the hurricane?

Blade and Willie turned to her. When she moved forward, Blade rose to meet her. Willie lowered his head and stepped back so that Marisol came to stand between them. She took a closer look at the buccaneer by her feet. The wound had a distinct spherical reddening around its outer edge. He’d been very near to the gun that delivered his death.

“What’s going on here?” she said.

Sorrow colored Blade’s eyes, their green hue dark and cloudy. It scared her. She didn’t like the troubled look he gave her. He slowly shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Marisol.” He placed his hand to the center of her back, a placating gesture.

Sorry? Sorry for what? Panic reared up from the depths of her soul.

“It’s the
Gloria.
”

No. She refused to hear him, refused to let his words sink in and touch her mind, her soul. “You’re lying.” She recoiled back from him and he let his arm drop.

“I’m not, sweetheart. Duncan, here, and some of those other men down in the water belong to the
Rissa.
” He put a hand on the railing and gazed to the remnants of the broken vessel riding the wakes as they sailed past. “I sent them with your brother as a part of his crew. That wreckage is the
Gloria.
She didn’t make it through the storm.”

Monte. Her dear younger brother, gone. How could this be? All her searching, all her deceptions, and the lives she invariably destroyed. It was for nothing.

“I just got him back.” She choked back the lump clogging her throat.

“I know, dove. I know.” Blade reached for her but she flung up her hands.

“Don’t,” she said. She didn’t want him to touch her. Not that way. His frown deepened but she knew better. He wouldn’t give her what she needed, not in front of his crew. He would merely mollify her and that would only cause the chasm of hurt to rupture further. That she did not need. She was alone now. Both her brothers were dead. Her father cast her out. What would become of her?

She lowered her head and stared at the body.

“But what about Duncan and the others? You said they were shot.”

“Murdered, yes.”

Reaction among the crew grew into an angry chorus. Blade raised his voice over the incensed din. “Probably before the storm hit.”

“How do you know?”

“It is obvious these men went down with the
Gloria
as she broke apart. They must have encountered trouble before the hurricane.”

He glanced at Willie. “Perhaps with our mystery ship.”

She hung on to her denial. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Blade said. “Something afoul happened on the
Gloria.
However, if there were anyone alive on the ship when the storm hit, it is doubtful there are survivors now.”

Murdered.
Marisol let the word sink in. It snaked around her heart, tightening like a vise. If Monte had been murdered, well, she regained a new resolve.

Vengeance.

“You’re losing her!” Marisol screeched and paced the quarter deck.

Blade found her action of alternating between frantic waving arms to keeping her hands tacked to her hips amusing. To a point. But for the past half hour, the mystery ship spotted earlier in the morning had gained considerable distance from them. Marisol’s twittery distress eroded his patience.

He wanted to catch that vessel as much as Marisol. Blade needed answers. Who commanded her? What was she after? Was she to blame for the deaths of
Gloria
’s crew and why? He snarled inwardly. No quarter would be given to the bloody bastards responsible for killing his men. He’d see to it personally.

The mystery ship was smaller than his
Rissa,
making the vessel faster. With the
Rissa
’s spanker still in need of proper repair, she struggled to keep up with her enemy. They followed the same course for hours and Blade realized the other ship had not assumed a defensive plan of action. She had not tried tricky maneuvers to lose the
Rissa,
but merely kept a steady easterly route instead. Whoever captained her, taunted him. That rankled Blade and uneasiness stalked in the shadows of his good sense.

Willie joined Blade by the rail. “We’ve lost sight of them, Capt’n.”

Marisol flung up her arms. “Bloody hell.” She stormed off muttering unladylike curses and descended the ladder, probably to sulk in her cabin. A door slammed.

“Blazes.” Henri grumbled, grunting from the effort of climbing the ladder with his lame leg. At the top, he paused long enough to scowl at the offending steps. He toddled over. “What’s gotten into the lass? She came flyin’ down the ladder an’ nearly plowed me down. You go an’ make her mad, Tyburn?”

“What makes you think that?”

“She was sayin’ somethin’ ’bout a capt’n needin’ to grow some ballocks.”

Willie choked on a chuckle, coughing to hide his mirth.

“Loose tongue, that girl.” Blade shook his head. She had brass but he couldn’t be angry. So long as she kept it to herself. Too much scoffing from her and he’d have to deal with it.

Henri retrieved the crate he kept secured near the wheel for those times he liked to reminisce about steering the ship and glory days long past. He set it down and stood on top.

“So whatcha gonna do about this problem?”

Blade wasn’t so sure anymore. The hurricane changed everything. His initial plan included catching up to the
Sugar Lady
and engaging the mystery ship. He was confident his answers to the missing silver lay there. Now his confidence ran low. A ship laden with silver would be heavy. It would move slowly and would not be easy to maneuver during a storm. It very well could be at the bottom of the sea. Now there was the matter of hunting down who was to blame for massacring his men.

“We’ll have to stick with the original plan. Get across Mona and sail into San Juan waters. ’Tis obvious this rogue ship is trifling with us. I’m convinced we’ll happen upon them. We’ll need to be prepared to engage.”

Henri snorted. “I meant whatcha gonna do about the lass?”

Blade cleared his throat. He suddenly didn’t like the turn of the conversation.

“Miss Castellan provides us with a bit of indemnity. Carrion is clever. He wants Windham’s silver, if for no other reason than because it was under our protection. If by chance the bastard manages to find the silver before we do, he will use Marisol as an excuse to cross me. He will come for us. He can go before the brethren with a plea that I took her and he was forced to fight me to get her back. His plan is to destroy me and keep the silver. She is our pawn in his quest.”

Blade couldn’t suppress his smile if he wanted to. The thought of engaging Carrion and putting an end to his vagrant practices gave him spurs of excitement.

What of Marisol? She’s lost so much already. Will you be able to kill her father? Will you be able to wipe her clean of Castellan men? Can you handle her hatred once you do?

His excitement wilted.

Henri eyed him carefully through slits of suspicion. “Is that all?”

Blade felt Henri’s scrutiny bore into him. Just what did the little man expect him to confess? “Aye, that’s all.”

Henri nodded in a slow show of doubt. He turned to Willie. “You hadn’t talked to ’em yet, has ya, Willie?”

Willie shrugged. “Hadn’t got ’round to it.”

“Hadn’t gotten ’round to it? I’d say you avoidin’ talkin’ to ’em, ya coward.”

“Maybe so,” Willie said.

“Talk to me about what?” Blade said.

“Ya see,” Henri began, “Marisol overheard one of the tars blame ’er brother for what happened to the men on the
Gloria.
”

Willie piped in. “She flung a knife at ’im, pinnin’ him to the wall and threatened to gut ‘im like a fish.”

Blade imagined her speed and precision. He’d been duly impressed by her knife-throwing abilities. She probably scared a few years off the seaman’s life.

“I had ta coax her nice like away from the fella,” Willie said. “’Twasn’t easy, I tell ya. Nearly lost a finger, an ear, and—” he patted his hip, “—me tobacco pouch.”

That chit was a wearisome handful. Blade couldn’t let her get away with physical threats to his men, not if he wanted to maintain their respect. She wouldn’t like what he’d have to do.
He
didn’t like what he had to do. “I’ll have her weapons removed.”

“Good luck to ya,” Henri said.

A lookout high up the mainmast called out. He pointed off the larboard bow.

Blade moved quickly to the other side of the ship. Willie and Henri, with his crate in tow, followed.

Blade untied his spyglass from his belt and scanned the waters. A mass of land rose straight from the gray watery plane. He recognized the island’s square shape. The tempest blew them hundreds of miles southeast.

“What do you make of it, Henri?” He handed over the telescope. “You reckon it’s Monito?”

Henri braced his torso against the rail to steady himself and adjusted the view. “That be the Monito, all right. See the cliffs? No way on the island.”

He sighted in on the hazy rock. The steep cliffs rose high from the ocean, black and craggy. Waves crashed against the walls in a steady rhythm.

“That storm blew us clear off course,” Henri said.

“Can’t complain.” Willie patted Henri on his back. “We still breathin’, ain’t we?”

“That we are, mate. That we are.”

A moment of silence hung heavy. Willie finally asked the question Blade was sure had been on all their minds.

“Do ya think Drake made it through the storm?”

“Drake’s a damn good captain,” Blade said. “He’s at his best in rough seas. But even he is at the mercy of a hurricane.”

Another moment of hush hung between them. He could only hope his friend survived the nasty tempest.

Blade scanned the sea beyond the ridge.

“Mona Island isn’t far.” He couldn’t see it rising from the water, but it was there, shrouded by the shifting illusions of the horizon. “Willie, have the helmsman bring her around three points the starboard beam. We’re going to make our way to Mona’s southeast side where we can navigate the reefs.”

“Aye, Capt’n.” Willie left to give the orders.

“I’d wager we’ll be there ’fore midday,” Henri said.

Blade agreed. “We’ll anchor, finish repairs and let the lads have a night of rest.”

“A bit of dry ground be welcome after last night.” Henri hopped off his crate. “You’d best see to that woman of yours,” he said, toddling away. “’Fore she hurts someone.”

Somehow, Blade didn’t think seeing to Marisol would be an easy task.

He made his way to her cabin and knocked. The door swung open. By the angry bonfires blazing in her eyes, getting her knives from her would be difficult indeed.

“Can I help you?” She held nothing back in her tart tone.

“May I?” Blade nodded his head to be let in.

After an irritable sigh, she stepped aside.

A smile brightened his soul as he looked around the room awash in the exotic blue fabrics. Many fine memories lay within those walls, with many fine ladies. A queer feeling crept into his heart, one of wistful lovers who soon would be forgotten. He didn’t want to forget but they floated away on a wind of change he could not identify.

“Why are you here?” She didn’t move from the door left open, a clear sign he had not been invited to stay.

“We need to talk.”

“Talk?” Her brow lifted in what he decided was ridicule. “Shouldn’t you be topside looking for the enemy ship you let slip away?”

The time had long since passed for her to end her biting words. “I understand your thirst for revenge, but you will hold sway your spiteful tongue. I will have no more of it.”

“Then I suggest you take your leave for I have nothing else to offer.”

Her words brought him close, irresistible like honey to a bee. “Oh?”

She stiffened, realizing too late the delicious challenge she presented him. “That’s right,” she said.

“This I know to be a lie.” He put his hand on the door and she pressed her back against the wall. “I can think of many things you can offer me.”

He closed the door slowly enough to allow her a chance to flee. But Marisol didn’t move. In fact, he didn’t think she even breathed. The door latch made a soft click and her eyelids fluttered at the sound. He bent in, nearing her lips, but she turned her face away. For a fraction of a second, he paused and smiled. She wouldn’t fall for that trick again. No matter, her slender neck invited him to a savory feast. The faint smell of sweet plumeria enticed him. He dragged his nose along her smooth skin, inhaling all he could of her. Wanting more, he started a trail of kisses back down her neck to the curve of her shoulder. A tiny moan escaped and her breath resumed, quickly picking up pace.

His own breathing ragged, he pulled back. “I need you to give me something.”

Marisol nodded and he couldn’t deny her parted lips. Swooping in, his zeal to taste her was matched by her eagerness. She laced her arms around his neck and he deepened their kiss. He pressed harder into her, their tongues mingled together in a passionate dance. The curve of her body kindled his yearning, a swelling tightening down below. He teetered on the edge of control.

“Please understand, dove.” The words tumbled out between kisses, yet for what he was about to do, he could all but guarantee his plea useless.

“Hmm.” She pulled him tighter.

Her tunic slipped out of her pants easily and he took special delight rubbing his hands over her dips and bends, appreciating every silky inch of her bare skin. He dared to caress one taut breast, cupping her, fondling her. Damn, he loved to feel this woman. It pained him when his other hand found what he had been searching for. One last succulent taste of her lips, one gentle squeeze more, and he removed her gulley knife from her waistband. Blade stepped away from her. Already, her warmth on his skin faded.

Surprise rimmed with outrage became softened by the tears building in her eyes.

Blade was a bastard. He’d known that all his life. It never bothered him before. In fact, being a bastard made his life easier. There never had been a need to explain or apologize for his actions. Even his paramours understood. But now, staring into those sad, brown puddles, he hated himself for it.

“I’ll need the other two, as well.”

The lines of her face stiffened. When she made no move to oblige him with her other daggers, he let out a heavy sigh.

“’Tis for your own good, Marisol. I cannot have you harassing my men with your weapons.”

“So you leave me helpless among a ship full of pirates?”

“You’re hardly helpless. And my men will not harm you. They are aware such a mistake would cost them their lives.”

“I’ve no choice in the matter?”

“No.”

Shaking her head, Marisol looked away. She blew out a disgusted huff and bent to remove the two knives strapped to her legs. Blade moved a pace away, not entirely trusting her. As angry and hurt as she was, she might try to attack him—again. With the handles facing out, she handed him her weapons.

A witch’s brew of hate fermented within her glowering visage. He couldn’t let her feel that way about him. He had to make her see. Her touch, her body, her kiss, that was real to him. He didn’t toy with her; he reveled in all she offered, all he could take.

Longing to touch her, he reached for her face. She turned away.

“Get out.” She threw open the door.

Anger sallied through him at being spurned. “Marisol.”

“Out!”

No sooner had he taken a step back through the threshold, the door slammed shut. The force sent a gust of wind across his face. He returned to his quarters, slamming his own door. The room brightened with the sun outside climbing higher in the sky. A red-footed booby flew past his window. Soon, they would be anchored. He should be looking forward to an evening on the beautiful Mona.

Instead, he couldn’t stop thinking about Marisol. When did she get to him? How? Her disappointment, her loathing as she glared at him, sickened him. She had a disturbing effect over him, a sure sign of weakness.

Damn that woman.

He stabbed the knives into his desk, the force embedding them deep into the wood, and stormed out of the room.