A Kiss in the Wind (2 page)

The captain smiled curiously at her. He gave Porter a shove backward. “Take your leave before you get yourself killed.”

The drunkard stumbled back, bracing himself on a chair to avoid tumbling. He grabbed a liquor bottle off a table and swung high at Captain Tyburn. Deflecting the swing with his left forearm, Tyburn delivered a crunching blow squarely to Porter’s nose. His head jerked back, blood spilling from his nostrils, and the poor fellow collapsed to the floor out cold.

No one in the room cared enough to take notice of the incident. In a common place like this, brawls must happen regularly. All the better for her. But if she didn’t get out of there soon, Alain would string her up. He despised rescuing her from bad situations. He said it made him look heroic, a trait he didn’t want to be saddled with.

“I suppose I should thank you for defending me.” Marisol hoped she didn’t sound too dismissive.

“Nonsense.” He bent to remove the bottle from Porter’s hand and set it on the table. “Any fool can see you don’t belong in this tavern.”

A gentleman, blast it. Well, this should be easy. But when he turned back to her with his crooked smile, Marisol thought she might melt. It had been a long while since she felt that way.

“Why are you here?” he said. “This is a dangerous place for an unescorted lady.”

Dangerous? Tsk. ’Twas nothing where she was concerned. “I had a bit of business.” She smiled, satisfied with her answer. “And you? Can I assume you come here often?”

“Occasionally.” He nodded to someone behind her. She peered over her shoulder to a group of men in the corner. “Tonight, however, I had some business of my own.” The men got up from their table, not bothering to finish their drinks, and left the tavern.

“Would you mind seeing my way outside?” She turned to face him but avoided his eyes for fear she would forget what brought her to him. “I would hate to have another ruffian pressure me to dance for him.”

“As would I.” Captain Tyburn held out his elbow for her. “Someone could get hurt.”

She scowled at him but he laughed heartily. It was a rich, bold laugh. An infectious laugh. She couldn’t help herself and joined in with his good humor. She took his arm and let him lead her to the doors.

It was quieter outside, but the din of the night’s debauchery carried out into the street. The salty air hung heavy from the lack of the sea breeze, leaving Marisol’s skin clammy. The moonless sky held a dark court despite the many stars.

“So, you are a ship’s captain?” she asked, scanning their surroundings. Not many people out this night. Though she was not from Puerto Plata, Marisol found it odd there wasn’t more activity about. They were only a few blocks from the port and she would have expected more bustling than a few wayward pub dwellers.

“Aye. Are you expecting someone?”

Marisol was startled by the captain staring down at her. “No.”

Wavy locks of his hair cast shadows across his angular face in the flickering light of the lamp torches. The effect heightened her awareness of him as a dangerous man. Probably more dangerous than she cared to know. She swallowed back her nerves. “Will your business have you staying in port long?” His response may either justify or rule out her suspicion he was the recipient of the letter.

He let down his elbow, releasing his accompaniment of her. “That depends upon the discretion of another.”

She frowned. What did he mean by that?

Three men sprinted across the street, disappearing in the darkness. Behind her, Marisol heard voices in the alley. Damn. Time to go.

“Some friendly advice, Miss Castellan. Find yourself a safe place tonight, away from the port.” He glanced past her. “I sense there will be trouble this night.” Looking back at her, his eyes settled on her mouth. “A good deal of trouble.” He reached up to caress her cheek then cupped her chin in his large hand. “You are so lovely. I should wish to meet with you upon my next visit to Puerto Plata.”

Another ripple of desire spread through her. He rubbed his thumb across her lips and, for a moment, she thought her legs might liquefy from under her. She parted her lips and closed her eyes. In the inviting fog of his erotic gesture, she slipped, letting the tip of her tongue lightly wet his thumb. He smiled and nodded once. “Yes, you would be a most pleasing attraction to hasten my return.”

Marisol stepped back, narrowing her eyes. She had nearly let him seduce her. It would take more than a gentle touch and a few well-placed words for her to succumb to a man’s charm. “Unfortunately, Captain Tyburn, I, myself, am just passing through.”

“Oh?” He appeared too relaxed and dropped his hand to rest upon the sword hanging from his hip. “What ship are you sailing with?”

“The
Egeria.
”

His smile thinned.

“Bound for Havana,” she added.

“Would you like me to see your way to the ship?”

“Thank you. You are very kind, Captain Tyburn. But I believe I’ve played upon your kindness too long.”

He took a step forward. “I’m certain you wouldn’t mind the company.”

She stepped farther back. “Another time, perhaps.”

He raised his hands in deference. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Marisol had her doubts. “I’m sure you would be. But no.”

“A lady shouldn’t be out on the streets alone at this hour. ’Tis unsafe.”

“The
Egeria
is the first ship at the dock. I’ll be fine.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother.”

“No, no.” Why was he being so persistent? Agitation crept back in and she folded then unfolded her arms. “I appreciate the offer. Really. I should go now.” Before Alain came looking for her.

“Of course.” Captain Tyburn bowed. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Marisol Castellan.”

“And you, as well. I bid thee a fair good-night.” She made a quick curtsy and walked away from the captain. Her steps were brisk, but not because of any lurking danger. And not because of the upbraiding she was sure to receive from Alain for being gone so long. No, it was Captain Blade Tyburn. She needed distance from him and his enticing eyes.

Marisol threw a glance over her shoulder for a last look at the magnificent captain. The light in which he stood seemed to not come from the street lamps, but rather from him, radiating from him like the rising sun. Turning back toward the quay, she ran her hand over the five objects in her skirt and grinned.

* * *

Blade admired Marisol Castellan before she disappeared down the street toward the docks. Though he couldn’t see her anymore, the image of her swaying hips as she hurried away burned into his mind. He shifted to relieve the pressure in his trousers still throbbing from her sensual response to him touching her lips. She was something to behold, an exquisite beauty. Her long black hair shone with a promise of silky softness and her creamy brown eyes reminded him of tea stains on the whitest of lace. He smirked as he remembered the smooth feel of her ankle and the curvature of her firm calf. And that body, that ample, luscious body. Oh, the things he would like to do to that bonny lass.

He found it charming how she tugged on her ear each time she had lied to him. Blade was certain she hadn’t even realized she had done it. She wasn’t sailing on the
Egeria.
That merchantman ship had just arrived from Havana and would be heading to Puerto Rico. He didn’t know why she was in the tavern, but it wasn’t for business. A woman in The Laughing Dog conducted only one kind of trade and clearly that was not the case with Marisol. So why had she lied? He wondered if it had anything to do with the dried blood under her fingernails.

“Capt’n.”

The last remnants of her sweet image faded with the sound of his first mate’s voice. Willie came up from behind to stand next to him.

“What do you have for me?”

Willie spat on the ground. “Well, Spanish soldiers found a fella with a hole in his chest back there in the alley.” He thumbed toward the corner of the drinking house. “Probably your go-b’tween.”

The news did not come as a surprise to Blade. One of his crewmen had already informed him there had been a commotion outside involving soldiers. He suspected then his meeting with the messenger had been postponed indefinitely and it was time to move out.

“And what does our Spanish rat have to say?” His tone sounded more sardonic than he intended. Traitors turned Blade’s stomach. He despised men who would not claim loyalty to any one faction, no matter for whose betterment. It was cowardice. For that reason, Blade preferred not to know the name of any man willing to talk against their countrymen so as not to cloud his judgment. At times, however, he had to admit that for a few coins it was in his best interest to listen to gossip from an anonymous miscreant. “Did the soldiers find anything?”

Willie shook his head. “Nothin’ but a pistol lying beside him.”

Blade frowned. “That explains why they didn’t storm the tavern looking for a killer.”

“Aye, that it does.” Willie spat again.

With the murder weapon beside the body, the soldiers would have nothing to search for. They would just assume the wound to be self-inflicted rather than waste time on another commoner’s death. Pity.

Nodding his head slowly in contemplation, Blade frowned. His mission had become more difficult. Without the information intended for him, he would have to rely on his instincts to see him through this. And his instinct right now was to ready the men.

“Who’s anchored since our arrival?”

“The
Sugar Lady.
” Willie pulled out a small pouch from his belt. Opening it, he grinned. “Got me some fine tobacco from one of the
Sugar Lady
’s hands.” He stuck his nose inside and inhaled deep. “Mighty good, I’d say.”

Willie held out the pouch to Blade. Blade ignored the offer. “And?”

“Port’s busy tonight.” Willie tied the tobacco back on his belt. “B’sides the two merchantmen.” Willie tugged on the sack to cinch it tight, adding, “The
Tigris
and
Sablewing
have dropped anchor.”

“
Sablewing.
Isn’t that Carrion’s ship?” That was all Blade needed. Carrion. That bastard had always been trouble. Real trouble. His bloody acts of piracy had been responsible for muddling up so many of the
Rissa
’s own questionable affairs and negotiations. Blade’s mood darkened by the minute.

“Aye. It’s Carrion, all right.” Willie looked toward the docks. “What do ya suppose he’s doin’ here? Do ya think he’s here for the same reason we are?”

Blade followed his mate’s gaze, hoping for a glimpse of a raven-haired beauty returning to him for a night of pleasure. No such luck. The night held something more sinister ahead for this part of the island.

“Can’t be sure,” Blade replied. “I doubt a man as business-minded as Charles Windham would be stupid enough to commission too many in his endeavor. His illicit good standing with the
audiencia
is not nearly secure enough to keep him from a chopping block.” But then, a rich man paying favors to the Spanish high courts didn’t always mean a shrewd man.

As much as he loathed doing it, Blade had to meet with Carrion and find out what the captain was doing in Puerto Plata. And soon. Carrion must be behind the unease creeping into the town. The evening was still relatively young, too early for a raid. Yet the signs were there. He had to find out what the pirate was up to. Crossing paths with the desperado during this commission from Windham didn’t settle well with Blade. Carrion wouldn’t hesitate to impinge on Blade if it meant lining his coffer. Particularly if that meant denying Blade of his fee for safely delivering Windham’s precious cargo.

Several men darted between the shadows and Willie reached for his pistol. Blade stayed Willie’s draw. “Go round up the men. Prepare arms.” Blade checked his own pistol. “And have Sam meet me back inside. I’m going to pay Carrion a visit.”

Adjusting the green sash and sword tied at his waist, Blade had a sudden moment of paralyzing realization. “Shit!”

“Capt’n?” Willie watched him as he patted his coat, digging into his pockets.

“Son of a bitch. It’s gone.” Rage burned up Blade’s neck as he felt its heat redden his face. “It’s gone,” he repeated. His cameo, his most prized possession, was gone. “That little tramp,” he snarled.

Marisol Castellan had proven she was a hell of a lot more than some pretty chit. And now she had much more to worry about than a tavern full of lewd drunks. The awful little thief better hope he didn’t find her, because when he did, he was going to kill her.

Black bay water lapped at the fat pilings slick with slime along the quay. The smell of rotten wood and decaying bait choked the sea air. From the edge of the docks, Marisol stared at the
Rissa.
The ship loomed silent against the still backdrop of the night. Captain Tyburn. The
Rissa.
There was something familiar about them, but she couldn’t decide what. She let her eyes follow a rat as it scurried up a taut rope securing the boat dockside. The rodent stopped to gnaw for a moment on the line’s fibers before crawling out of sight. The nagging feeling she should know more about the captain and his ship chewed at her mind.

“Where’ve you been?”

Without looking away from Tyburn’s brigantine, Marisol waited for Luc to join her. “In my quarters,” she said.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

She glanced at her older brother. He stood scrutinizing the ship before them, slowly taking in each detail. He had a handsome profile, though his dark curls drove her crazy when they covered his eyes.

“I suppose.”

Luc huffed and turned to glare at her. “You took off on your own, didn’t you?”

His eyes. He had their mother’s eyes. Marisol saw nothing but love in those beautiful brown eyes. Even when he swore he would string her up by her toes, Luc’s eyes always gave away how he really felt for her.

She shrugged in response.

“Damn it, Marisol.” Luc slapped his hat on his thigh. “Alain is going to skin you alive when he finds out. He is not the forgiving sort.”

“Who’s going to tell him?” She tipped her head. “Are you going to tell him, Luc?”

He dropped his gaze in frustration. “You know I won’t.”

No, of course he wouldn’t. Although it would have been easier on him than to always cover up her misadventures and messes. She certainly was a trial for her poor brother.

The particulars of this evening she would keep to herself, especially that of the dead man. Luc would be better off not knowing. Her actions only served to cause him suffering, and he’d suffered enough. The burden of that death was hers and hers alone. But Marisol knew if she let it, guilt would eat at her dreams, torturing her with visions of his soul fleeing from eyes that dulled. She must not let that happen. Her only recourse was to push her remorse to the deepest corner of her mind.

“Here now.” She smiled. “Do you want to know what I found?”

Luc laughed. “Found? Is that what you call it? Did you
find
this new dress?” He picked at the pink ruffle on her sleeve.

“Never mind that.” She dug in her skirt, pulling out the letter she had taken earlier from the dead knave. “Do you know what this is?”

Luc watched Marisol wave the folded paper around. “I hope not.” He snatched it from her fingers. “There’s blood on this.”

His concerned eyes inspected her. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“Marisol—”

“I’m fine, Luc.”

“Then who’s—Marisol, what did you do?”

“Never mind that.” She must put an end to his questions and redirect his attention, for his sake as well as for hers. “Look on the inside.”

Luc hesitated before opening it. Frowning, he turned the paper several times in his hands, trying to make sense of the writing.

“It’s the rough coordinates and time for the interception of Windham’s shipment of silver.” She beamed, rather proud that she had deciphered the note. She had read and reread the message in her quarters under the dim flame of a single candle. Too much light coming from her room would have raised suspicion as they were barred from wasting the tallow unless needed. ’Twould do her no good to have been caught. So she’d memorized the words and blew out the candle before being discovered.

“How can you be sure?” Luc turned the page again.

“Really, Luc,” she said. “You should learn to read.” She snatched the paper from his hands.

He clicked his tongue. “I know how to read.”

“Something other than the names over the entrances to your favorite alehouses.”

“Don’t need to read. I just let Simone do the communicating for me,” he said, patting the gleaming cutlass at his hip.

That was true enough. Luc exacted fatal precision with his sword. She had spent many hours watching him, learning from him, striving to be as good as he.

“All right, see here?” She pointed to the sole sentence.
“Gloria chante sept avec le lever du soleil des eaux nobles,”
she read. “Gloria sings seven with the sunrise of the noble waters. That is what it says.” She looked up excitedly at Luc. “A ship called the
Gloria
will be coming from the east at high tide seven miles out.” She could hardly contain her jubilation. “Windham has a ship named
Gloria.
Do you realize what this means?” Once she told Alain of the note, he would have to forgive her for disobeying his direct orders to not interfere.

“I know what you’re thinking, Marisol, and it won’t work.” Luc shook his head. “He’s not going to be pleased with you. He may even punish you.”

Her smile faded. She knew what he would say next, dousing her mirth.

“You have no way of knowing if Monte is on that ship,” he continued. “Alain is not willing to intercept a well-fortified ship to look for a ghost.”

She puckered her mouth into a frown. Luc knew her well and he knew what motivated her. She had heard from a reliable source that her younger brother was seen in Santo Domingo and could be a sailor on one of Charles Windham’s ships. Upon hearing the news, Marisol had decided she would find him at all costs.

“I miss Monte, too.” Luc sighed. “But I’ve accepted him as dead. And you should do the same.”

“His body was not found.” Her voice caught in her retort. “He could still be out there.”

“You and I both know Monte was an undisciplined bladder of air. Always impatient. Never following orders. I wish it weren’t so. I really do.”

He spoke true. Monte stubbornly believed he could outsmart anyone or anything. His arrogance got him into many brawls. Ask Monte and he would’ve said he never lost a fight, even when he was so battered, Luc had to carry him home. Aye, Monte was troublesome.

Luc put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
Here it comes. Here comes the same old drivel Luc spoon fed her when she insisted Monte was alive.

“It was an accident, Marisol. It wasn’t your fault that he didn’t escape.”

She refused to believe it. Monte was crafty enough to make it out alive. And if she ever stopped searching for him, her guilt would surely swallow her whole. It saddened her that Luc didn’t believe in the possibility that Monte was alive. He was a great source of comfort to her, yet for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to support her quest to bring their missing brother home.

Well, if Luc wouldn’t help she would continue her search alone. “I suppose you’re right.” She patted his hand that still lay on her shoulder. “Do you suppose Alain will still be interested in this letter?”

“Possibly.” He paused. The shadows on his face only sharpened the tired lines around his eyes. “Do you want me to give it to him?”

She thought of Alain’s punishments. As of late, she had been straining his patience beyond its tethered length. He wouldn’t be lenient on her now, no matter her cozy position with him. What would he dole out to correct her bad behavior? It didn’t matter. As part of his crew, she had to adhere to his orders. Her defiance really left him with no choice. She supposed she deserved whatever she would get. “No,” she sighed. “I’ll see to it myself.”

Luc delivered a worried glance. She smirked, knowing she would likely talk her way out of trouble again if their father found the note remarkable enough. He gave a low chuckle. He knew it, too. His laughter died as he returned his attention to the ship before them.

“What?” she asked. “Do you know this ship?”

“Aye,” he answered. “The pirate ship,
Rissa.
”

Something in Luc’s tone jogged her memory. It all came flooding back to her. She’d heard stories of the infallible ship and her conquests. Great battles she had won and immeasurable treasures she had garnered. It was believed among the tarry-breeks the sea over that the
Rissa
was cursed. For every voyage she embarked on, for every fortune she made, one on board must die. A trade for good fortune. Only those spawned from the devil could captain her.

“She’s quiet tonight,” Luc added.

Marisol hadn’t noticed before. But he was right. There should be crewmen about. Even when the sailors caroused in port, some remained behind on duty to guard their ship and whatever she may carry in her hold. Marisol became more aware of the tenebrous brig and the ominous creaks of the quay around them. The darkened ship effused a foreboding sense. Bare masts like skeletal arms reached to the ebony sky. Ratlines resembled spider webs ready to snare a hapless soul who ventured too close. Somewhere in the shadows a door shut. They were being watched. Peripheral movement had her searching the vessel’s bow.

“Why don’t you go back to your cabin? You can give the letter to Alain later.” Luc took a step back from the edge to the pier, pulling her along by her elbow. He must have felt the same baneful energy around them rolling in like poisonous sea mist from the ship. “Besides, you’ll be safer there. I’ve got something important I must do. But if you want, later I can be with you when he returns.”

“You know there is nothing you can do should he wish to punish me.” While she appreciated his protective nature, she would not allow Luc to stand up to Alain for her. The act would be considered mutinous. She had no plans to be the cause of any more suffering to her brother. “I’ll be fine. To prove it, I’ll come directly to your quarters afterwards.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Later, then.” He waved, casting one last glance to the
Rissa
as he turned toward the town.

She pretended to head for their ship for she knew Luc would look back. Let him think she followed his suggestion of returning to her quarters. She deliberately kept the letter within view a moment longer before returning it to her pocket. Then she, too, walked away from the docks and into the streets of Puerto Plata.

Alain had said they anchored here for the amber trade. Marisol wasn’t so sure. He never revealed his true motives and they were most always selfish in nature. His rapacity played like a fine tuned instrument. If she struck the right chord, maybe she could pique his interest in the cargo the
Gloria
carried and convince him to chase her down. With the ship passing in the morning, she needed to get to him soon.

Crossing the square she spied Alain and two of his cohorts, Ben and Knuckles, duck under an open curtained doorway at the far end of the street. Another brothel. By now she should be used to his whoring. She blew out a disappointed sigh before she trotted after him. Marisol wished she could change him. God knew she’d tried.

She pushed through the red curtain. Several girls casually chatted with each other among the cushioned chairs and sofas in the room. An older woman wiping a glass clean behind the small bar looked up. Ben and Knuckles stood at the end of the counter. Three lusty molls negotiating socket money for their ribald services fingered the men’s clothing, removing hats and running their hands through hair. The fellows couldn’t have been happier with the attention.

Marisol caught sight of Alain in the back ascending the stairs to the bedrooms above. “Alain,” she called.

“Marisol,” he spat. “You’d better have a damn good reason for being here.” He stood on the steps unabashed by the busty brunette beside him pawing her way over his body, tugging at him to follow her upstairs.

Maybe she should have listened to Luc and waited for Alain’s return to the ship. Interrupting him now was a lousy idea. Leaving the ship against his orders and disturbing him in his leisure was bad enough. But once he found that she’d again left a little mess in her wake a few blocks over, the position of a silver shipment off the coast of Hispaniola would not be enough. She should have waited until after he had his pleasure. Then his mood would have been lighter.

“Out with it, woman.” His growl filled the room like angry thunder. Alain’s strumpet dropped her arms and frowned at Marisol for agitating him. Ben and Knuckles looked over. In fact, the entire brothel had come to attention.

Marisol bowed her head. “Pardon, Captain.” When she looked up at him, she held her chin a bit higher. A gesture of courage she must always maintain, as she would not grovel to him. She doubted he took notice. “I have an urgent matter I would like to pass along to you. I can see you are busy—” she shifted her gaze to the woman, “—but it will only take a moment of your time, if you would allow it.”

His stare bore into her. Oh great guns, was he displeased.

“Go on up, Zita,” he said. “I’ll join you in a moment.” She squealed as he slapped her rear. “Be naked.”

His heavy footfalls thudded upon each step. His knee-length coat buffeted around the arsenal she knew he concealed beneath it. He met Marisol at the bottom of the stairs. “This better be worth it.” He led her to a quiet corner away from prying ears and sat down at a small tripod tea table. “Don’t sit.” He waved his ringed hand as she bent to take the seat next to him. He leaned back crossing his arms over his chest. “You have one minute. Go.”

She tried not to let his gruffness upset her. Why did he have to act this way? She didn’t need the constant reminder of his authority. “Very well,” she bandied. “A shipment of silver is on a boat due to sail past on the morn seven miles out. It’s the
Gloria,
a ship owned by Windham.”

“Silver, you say?” Alain rubbed at the scruffy black beard growing in on his chin. “There’s been talk Windham was moving riches. But it’s been months.” His scowling face darted up at her. His mouth twitched with admonition. “And how did you come by this information,
ma chérie
?” He stressed the endearment more than necessary.

She shrugged. “It is not important.”

“I say it is.”

An unexplainable apprehensiveness cautioned her from revealing the note. “I intercepted a message from a dying carrier.”