A Kiss in the Wind (17 page)

She bent her head back as far as it would go and stretched her neck above the water to take advantage of the small pocket of air the niche had left to offer.

Marisol sucked in a life-sustaining breath before the water engulfed her. Her chest tightened and her feet slipped, but she hung on horrendous second after second.

The water finally ebbed down to her chest, but stopped higher than it had before. She strained to see into the darkness and ran her hands along the rugged sides for handholds. There had to be a way out of there. Grooves within the wall lent her little leverage to climb upward. She was trapped. All she could do was stay afloat and not get sucked down into the underwater channel. The roar of the returning torrent built. The catacomb would turn into her burial chamber if she didn’t get out soon.

The swells came and consumed her, she held on, but the tide persisted longer. Her shrinking lungs burned with the need to breathe. Panic flooded her dizzy head.
I’m going to drown.
She gave in to the spontaneous impulse to inhale. Gulping for air, she swallowed water. Her nose scraped against the ceiling of her watery coffin just as the sea once again retreated.

She coughed up water, searing her throat and nostrils, gasping for air through salty caustic saliva. The horror of nearly drowning did not recede with the tide. In moments, the tide would return.

How much more could she handle? No more. The next surge would be her last.

“Monte!” Calling out his name triggered a fit of coughing.

“Here!”

Glory be! He returned.

“Hurry, Monte! The tide!” Could she hear him over the sea’s bellows?

He threw down a rope, no, a thick vine.

“Grab a hold!”

She seized it and planted her feet against the wall. An herbal fragrance from crushing leaves and smaller trailing vines under her grip wafted briefly. The vine was green and should be strong, she hoped.
Please don’t break.
Hand over fist, she tugged herself up and out of the water. The cave walls closed in, the oppressive air thickening with saline and heavy wheezing.

“Don’t let me go,” she cried.

Monte heaved and she steadied herself from spinning with her feet along craggy toeholds. Near the top, a cool breeze washed over her face. Clouds and stars came into view. Dirt crumbled from the edge, raining down into her face. One more tug. Monte grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt and hitched her out of the hole. Marisol collapsed to the ground and spat at the soil stuck to her lips.

“Damn you, Marisol.”

“For a moment…” She cast an apprehensive glance to the gaping cleft. “I thought I was going to die.”

“Not yet.” He yanked her up by the arm. “You bloody almost ruined everything.” He gnashed his teeth and stalked off. “Come on. You’ve wasted enough time. We’ve got to get back. They’re waiting.”

Large fronds closed behind him on the trail he followed. Marisol pushed through the jungle, keeping on his heels. He mumbled on about the trouble she always caused and how he was forever saving her arse. Her gashes whimpered for attention but she knew better than to complain. Monte would wait no more for her.

“
Who
is waiting?”

“My crew,” Monte said. He stopped and plied her with a sanctimonious smile. “On
my
ship. The
Huntress.
” He placed his hand on her shoulder and bent his head to meet her eyes. “But you know her as the
Sugar Lady.
”

Flames from the burning ship licked at the inky sky. The blaze burnished the darkened inlet water, sending rippling waves of firelight stretching toward shore. Mild breezes painted the air with bitter smells of burning pitch and wood. Small explosions ripped through the hush of distance.

Blade watched a mast crumble, falling into the open mouth of the infernal flare. Such a shame to see any vessel be destroyed, especially by fire.

He took careful note of another ship floating beyond in the flickering glow. From his vantage, the ship resembled the
Sugar Lady
but for one distinct difference. She blazoned many open gun ports. He didn’t recall the merchantman having them before. But he did remember how the mystery ship had flaunted her arms, the worthy adversary. Could the two ships be one and the same? It wasn’t unheard of that a vessel could cloak herself as a harmless trade ship.

What piqued Blade’s interest the most was how low the ship sat in the bay. A ship such as she would have a shallow draft. There was definitely something in her hold that had her weighted. He had an idea of just what cargo she carried. His silver.

Cries and moans lifted to his ears and Blade scanned the beach before him. Men, a dozen or so, crawled from the edge of the water, their bodies bloodied from swimming through the jagged reefs. Some collapsed to the sand, desperate for air. Others huddled together. Still others floundered in the water, unable to swim and unable to make the expanse from the burning ship to the shore. How terrified they must be, dead men even before drowning.

Blade motioned for his men to stay hidden but for Cromby to follow as he stepped from the copse of trees onto the beach. He closed in on the beset group and recognized some of them. He stepped beside one battered man sitting with his head hung between his knees. Crouching down, Blade studied him. Aye, he’d seen this tar before. The man made no move to his presence.

“What might you call yourself, mate?” Blade said.

The man raised his head slowly. Fatigue ringed his hollow eyes. His dead stare hovered before answering. “Ben.”

“Who’s your captain, Ben?”

“Capt’n Carrion.”

Ben confirmed what Blade already figured. Now he needed the rest of the story.

“What happened, Ben?”

Ben looked back out at the burning ship. The
Sablewing
tipped and the fire had eaten much of the topside away. Flaming debris floated away from the wreckage. Ben’s gaze traveled to the surviving men, wet, sandy and bleeding on the shore.

“We came ’pon our quarry. Thought to trap ’er ’ere in the cove. Capt’n said ’twould be easy. Just needed ta scare ’em. Make ’em surrender.” Ben shook his head, still looking at his defeated shipmates. “Never ’ad a chance.”

“What do you mean?”

Ben shot a disconcerted look between Blade and Cromby. “She be better gunned. We ’ad no business fightin’, no ’ow. With the beatin’ we took and then the storm, our ship couldn’t do battle. We’d been takin’ on water. Capt’n said we’d abandon ’er and take the merchant. Damn, if we didn’t know the
Sugar Lady
was fitted like some bloody warship.”

“So she is the
Sugar Lady.
” This cinched Blade’s suspicion. A very bold disguise, one which regrettably got past him. He should’ve recognized the deception, suspected the masquerading ship. After all, the
Sugar Lady
had been there every step of the way, from the disappearance of the silver to leading Drake into Puerto Plata and then the attack on Carrion. How could he have been so foolish?

He cursed himself for not being more alert. Ever since that woman,
his
woman, came colliding through the tavern back at Puerto Plata, his concentration had been crippled. He couldn’t afford to lose focus again. The time had come to take action.

First Blade needed to get more information. “Where’s Carrion?”

“Capt’n was taken pris’ner. The crew were given a choice. Turn on our capt’n or go overboard. A few scurvy dogs turned, rest of us refused. They threw lit powder flasks at us. Set the
Sablewing
to fire. Capt’n orders.”

“Who is the
Lady
’s captain?”

“Don’t know. Never saw ’em.” Ben looked around again at his mates. “Guess not many of us made it.” His voice cracked with resignation.

No captain on deck. Peculiar. Why take Carrion alive but destroy his ship, kill off his crew? Carrion, alone, brought nothing of value. And the heavily armed
Sugar Lady
disguised as a merchantman proved more than suspicious. It could mean only one thing. Trespassing pirates.

Someone had made a grave mistake. The western Caribbean waters belonged to him. That fact was known far and wide. To simply sail into his territory invited serious scrutiny. But the foolish captain of the
Sugar Lady
nailed his own coffin shut when he took his silver. There would be hell to pay.

Blade looked to Cromby, nodded and then jerked his head to the trees. Cromby trotted off to where the other men waited.

“Gather your men, Ben. If you promise allegiance to me and the
Rissa,
you can join my crew.”

Color returned to Ben’s face, but wariness waited in his inquisitive expression.

“We go after the
Sugar Lady.
”

A slow grin broke free, flashing Ben’s crooked teeth. He nodded. “Aye, sir…Capt’n.”

“Keep up.” Blade stood. “I’ve got a score to settle and I won’t wait for you.”

“Huzza, mates!” Hollering to his brethren, Ben clambered to his feet. “We be
Rissa
lads now! Death is but their due and we will plunge the
Lady
forthwith to the bowels of ’ell!”

Cheers and excitement followed Blade as he left the beach. As members of the brethren, he had their loyalty now, but if Carrion made it out alive, they were sure to return to the blackguard. He didn’t take such things for granted. No matter, he liked to keep his enemies close.

Time was running out. They needed to get back to the
Rissa
before the
Sugar Lady
weighed anchor. If she did escape, it would be hard to give chase in the dark. Blade could only assume her course continued to be San Juan. That was a risk he didn’t want to take. He picked up his pace. They forged ahead in silence. Whispers of sworn vengeance upon the
Sugar Lady
kept the
Sablewing
lads hungry.

Soon, Blade and his men broke through the hedge of foliage along the beach. The
Rissa
sat primed out in the cove for his return. Sam rose from his roost on the driftwood log next to the lone fire. The behemoth pointed at his company to douse the flames.

“Get these men to the ship, Cromby,” said Blade. “See to the wounded and garrison them for battle.” Only one longboat sat on the beach, not enough room for all to make it in one trip. “Handsomely! We’ve not a moment to spare.”

Sam met Blade at the edge of the surf. “Everyt’ing’s ready, Capt’n.”

“Excellent.”

“Capt’n,” Sam said. “T’ere’s something—”

“Whaddya find, Tyburn?” Henri interrupted as he joined them. “Who be them dogs?”

“Carrion’s men, what’s left of them.”

“They be prisoners?”

“Nay. They will fight with us.”

Henri’s scrunched, weathered face smoothed flat with his shock of disbelief. White lines appeared where stiff wrinkles usually overlapped.

Blade spoke before the tiny man railed him. “The
Sablewing
was what lit up the sky. Carrion has been captured.” He paused to give significant magnitude to his next words. “By the
Sugar Lady.
”

“Do me ears need swabbin’?” Henri stuck a fat finger in an ear and waggled it. “Did you say the
Sugar Lady?
”

“Aye. She’s well gunned and loaded with our silver.”

“I’ll be damned,” Henri said.

“Now you see the urgency of the matter. We must leave now.”

Henri puffed his body to attention and shuffled off, barking at the three other crewmen left on the beach to finish putting out the fire and prepare for departure when the longboat returned.

“Sam, I’ll need you to keep an eye on our new recruits. Supply them with weapons.”

He nodded. “But Capt’n…”

Blade spun around and took deliberate strides to the hidden cave. Marisol should know her father had been seized and the
Sablewing
reduced to ashes.

She could have been on that ship. A shudder racked him with the thought, at the fate that would have befallen her had he left her in Carrion’s care. ’Twas a damn good thing he negotiated for her. She had much to thank him for. Maybe he should keep a tally of her debt to him. The payout would be sweet and he looked forward to settling up with her.

Until then, he would have to break the news about what he learned. She wouldn’t take it well. The poor lass had been through so much already. Losing both her brothers in the span of a few days hurt her tremendously. Word of her father and the ship she called home would not be welcomed. He wished he could ease her pain. Instead he brought her more heartache.

If she could hold on a little longer, he would bring her comfort. He would do his best to carry her weight. His shoulders were strong enough to bear her yoke of suffering as well as his own.
Just a little longer, dove.

“Capt’n.” Sam called out to him. “Capt’n, sir, wait.”

Blade slowed for Sam. His massive feet kicked up tufts of sand in his hurry to catch up.

“What’s on your mind, mate?”

“It’s Miss Marisol, sir.”

“She didn’t skin you for singing about her arse, did she?” Blade chuckled, but the remorse sagging at his loyal mate’s mug unnerved him.

“What is it? What has she done?” Blade turned back toward the cave and quickened his steps. “Is she hurt?”

“Nay. Capt’n, stop. She’s not in t’ere.”

“Well, where is she? Is she on the ship?”

Sam took a deep breath, staring at the ground. “She be…gone.”

“What in the devil are you talking about?”

“Left wit t’at maggot, Castellan.”

“Monte? You saw her leave with Monte?”

“Give you me Bible oat’.”

Blade had no reason to doubt Sam, but there had to be a mistake. Monte should be dead. “Are you certain, man?”

“I tell ya true, t’ey went up t’e footpat’.”

“Son of a—”

She deceived me again.

* * *

“Monte, please. I don’t understand.”

Marisol followed Monte down the ladder to the main deck. He had spoken little to her since leaving Blade’s camp and the dreadful pit. On their escape, he had insisted she recount her last few days with Captain Tyburn, finding a great many humors in her tale. How odd that he took such delight in the misfortune of others.

It had taken a while for them to reach the bay where the
Sugar Lady,
or the
Huntress,
or whatever bloody name the ship went by, sat anchored. They hadn’t taken the straightest path back, but rather, it seemed, took a wide berth of the inlet, breaking through the tree line to scramble over slick boulders on the far side of the beach.

Monte pulled out a longboat hidden well among the rocky coast. She had been standing right next to it and failed to see the craft. In the gloom of night, no one would have ever seen it.

They rowed to the waiting ship, and the last of a charred, dying vessel in the middle of the bay slipped below the water’s surface. Log-like shadows darkened the sea close by. Marisol had shuddered and said a quick prayer for the poor souls who drowned.

Monte snorted. Taken aback by his callousness, she had questioned him. Didn’t he have any sympathy? After all he’d been through, didn’t he have respect for the dead? Who were those men? What ship lay on the sea bottom? In the dark, she could not read his expression. But the emptiness in the black holes of his eyes startled her.

* * *

That thieving liar. That conniving minx. I should have counted my blessings and left her to Carrion.

Blade paced his cabin and swilled his cup of wine. He prized his Madeira wine, only breaking it open for big celebrations such as the recent wedding of his best mate or the capture of a prize carrying crates of precious gems. Events worth rejoicing over. Instead, he drank to put the devil in him. Anger coursed down his throat with each swallow and spread hot through his wits.

Let the liquor wash Marisol from my mind. Deaden any fond thoughts of her.

He tipped the bottle to his cup but stopped shy of letting the wine drain. The cup held too little of the liquid. Straight from the bottle would do splendidly. After a swig, then another, he cursed her again.

It had all been a ruse. She’d led him on from the beginning. Killed his messenger. Used him as an escape. Mocked him by snatching his cameo. She must have thought herself clever. Oh, and what a good actress. The chit’s performance of a desperate girl searching for her dead brother had been believable, all right. And he played the buffoon.

There were too many coincidences. The raid, the sudden appearance of Monte, the mystery ship…Thoughts reeled and he tried to add it all up. The murder of his men on the
Gloria
had him straining against a tether. A beast clawed from within him, ready to be unleashed on the person responsible.

Blade would wager his soul, blackened and worthless as it was, that Monte had some connection to the death of his crew. That the lad had been spared from the chilling doom of the
Gloria
again seemed preposterous. Monte couldn’t be that lucky. No man could be that lucky.

He moved to the window and watched the dark shape of Mona Island slip along the blue backdrop of the drowsy sky. The early rays of the sun would wake the day soon. By then, the
Rissa
would be upon her prey.

Blade chuckled. His throaty laugh soured into a sneer. Reckoning. It would be his. Monte would be given no quarter. He sensed the little bastard was trouble from the start. But Marisol believed in him. Blade saw it in the way her smile touched her face at the sight of him, when Monte patted her hand resting in the crook of his arm. He had watched them as they took a stroll on deck. They laughed together and fell silent together. They were comfortable with one another.