Captive Secrets (31 page)

Fury sat down on the parish steps, her elbows propped on her knees, and tried to fathom the day's events. Dykstra, if he truly did suspect her mother's identity, wouldn't let the matter fade away to nothing. He was an astute business manager, and as such he might have tried to strike a bargain with the governors. Maybe he hadn't really been passed over as governor; maybe it was just meant to look that way.

The moment Fury was secure in the saddle, the horse galloped off, nostrils flaring, mane whipping across her tight hold on the reins.

There was a plan, she was certain of it. All she had to do was puzzle it out. And she would start with Luis Domingo.

What man, she wondered, would give up a handsome commission to return home to Spain with only sandalwood in his hold? Dykstra had first hired him to set a trap for the Sea Siren, and then he'd hired him to guard the diamond merchant on his trip back to Spain. As far as she knew, Luis Domingo was not a rich man, and the commission would have been handsome. But he'd given it up, or so he'd said. He'd also said he was not going to reveal her identity or her mother's. Why? Because of Dykstra? But Dykstra wanted the Sea Siren, badly. How good was Domingo's word?

Then there was Peter Dykstra, who'd been passed over as governor in favor of a younger man, Father Sebastian said. That didn't make sense. The Dutch East India Company favored older, experienced men like her father and Dykstra. In ordering Luis Domingo to capture the Sea Siren, Dykstra could have been acting from personal interest alone. If so, mightn't it have had to do with revenge against her father, her mother, and herself? Yet, her father and Dykstra were the best of friends, and had been for years.

Third, the arrival of the governors was not, by itself, unusual. But the timing of their visit and their abrupt departure were. All details worthy of her attention.

And where did the diamond merchant fit into all of this? Fury wondered. Whose ship was he really sailing on? Or were the diamonds on one ship and the man on another?

So many questions, so few answers. What she had to do now was examine all the details and come up with answers. They, in turn, would lead her to a conclusion.

By the time she reached the casa Fury had a pounding headache. But she also had her answers. Upstairs, she looked longingly at her bed but knew she had to commit to paper her conclusions before she surrendered to sleep.

The diamonds, she wrote, were obviously worth more than she imagined. Possibly a million pesetas if the gems were flawless. Luis Domingo was carrying the diamonds, possibly in his seaman's bag, to throw off suspicion. The board of governors had indeed appointed Dykstra governor, but because of the Sea Siren's “reappearance” they'd come up with the ruse that had been enacted at the von Klausner soiree. Because, she scribbled, the resulting furor would draw attention away from the diamond consignment. Furthermore, the woman posing as the Sea Siren had already accosted Luis Domingo twice and knew he was sailing with only sandalwood in his hold, sandalwood she didn't want. The diamond merchant was sailing on Peter Dykstra's ship, the governors on a third ship. A small convoy, of sorts, but who would be escorting whom?

Fury leaned back in her chair, her temples throbbing. Something niggled at her, something the priest said. A detail, an important one. Fury massaged her temples, knowing the answer would come to her if she could just relax and think about something else for a little while.

She thought of her parents and the games she'd played with her younger bro—The young man who had signed on Luis's ship at the last moment! Father Sebastian had said Mynheer Dykstra had been upset. That little detail had to mean something.

Fury was off her chair in a second, twirling around in a dizzying circle. Of course, he was a member of the impostor's crew! He'd changed ships at the last moment to allow someone at the harbor to inform the impersonator that the diamonds were aboard Luis's ship.

She had it all now. The question was, what should she do? What
could
she do? There was no way to overtake the small convoy at this time. She could sail in a jolly boat down the river and into the cove and attack the impostor. But it was such a foolhardy idea, she felt disgusted with herself for even thinking of it. Her other alternative was to wait for Juli's brothers to return and take her own ship. Somewhere en route she'd lie in wait for the impostor and attack her ship, thereby granting safe conduct for Luis and the convoy.

Fury threw herself on the bed, burying her face in the pillow. “I'll never see him again. He'll never know for certain I am my mother's daughter. Someday,” she cried into the pillow, “he might hear a story of this coming battle and remember me.”

A stiff breeze ruffled the bedcovers as Gaspar sailed into the room, his talons searching for the bedrail. His wings rustled and fluttered as he inched his way to the pillow Fury lay upon. “I tried to see him again,” she whispered brokenly. “I wanted to see him, but it wasn't meant to be. All I can do now is try to make his journey as safe as possible. He . . . I could love him,” she sobbed. “Now I . . . I couldn't even say good-bye.” She rolled over and sat up, tears streaming down her cheeks. “And what will become of you and Pilar when I go to the convent?” A fresh wave of sobs broke out.

Gaspar moved one talon until he had a corner of the sheet gripped securely. He brought it up gently, offering it to Fury as though it were a prize of great value. She sobbed all the harder.

An angry
swoosh
of air stirred in the room as Pilar took her place next to Gaspar. The hawks stared at the sobbing girl, then Gaspar moved, his wing tips gently wiping the tears from Fury's cheeks. She broke down completely then, throwing herself deeper into the pillow. The startled birds looked at each other, their wings fanning the bed furiously. Pilar lifted her wings until she was satisfied with the draft she created and sailed straight up and out through the open doors, Gaspar in her wake.

Up they flew, into the dark night, high above the jungle trees, and out over open water, their wings flapping together as their jet eyes searched the vast expanse of dark water.

 

Two days later, as the sun prepared to dip beyond the horizon, Juli's youngest brother arrived at the casa. He was overwrought, wild-eyed. “I saw . . . I couldn't believe my eyes . . . I knew I'd just left your ship and my brothers, but there it was—the black ship sailing from the River of Death. I couldn't see clearly, but the woman at the wheel . . . I swore she was you. I almost killed myself getting here. It was the woman posing as you, Capitana!” the young man said breathlessly.

Fury nodded. “How long ago?”

“A little past first light. It will take us three days to rendezvous with your ship if we leave now.”

“Juli, I . . .”

The housekeeper had a sudden vision of her brother returning to the casa with Fury's dead, broken body. She threw her arms around Fury in a fierce hug. “You could encounter the impostor. I have every confidence in your ability, but . . . ”

“But what?” Fury asked quietly.

“If she wants the diamonds as badly as we think she does, she'll do anything. Her men are seasoned cutthroats. My brothers are husbands, family men. They can defend themselves, but a fight to the death, if it comes to that ... They're no match for such men.”

Fury nodded. “I've thought of that. I plan to discuss it with them once I board my ship, give them a chance to remain onshore without any loss of face. I'll have Gaspar and Pilar with me.”

“In case you haven't noticed, Miss Fury, those evil-looking creatures have been absent for two days.”

“They often disappear for days at a time,” Fury said lightly.

“Since when?” Juli demanded. “They hover about here like bees at a honey pot. Even at night I hear them.”

“I'm not worried, Juli, and I don't want you to worry. I'll be back here before you know it, in plenty of time to . . . to do what I have to do. Now, fetch my things so we can be on our way.”

 

How young this boy was, she thought, and his wife about to give birth to their first child. She smiled at him, seeing the relief in his face at the knowledge he would be returning to his small cottage and his family.

Where were the hawks?
Her stomach lurched at the thought of sailing completely alone, something she knew she couldn't do. Everything was wrong; she could feel it in her bones. Every instinct in her warned against this voyage. Give it up, this is a foolhardy thing you're doing. You can't possibly overtake the impostor, do battle, and win . . . not singlehandedly.
Oh, Gaspar, where are you?

“I hate it when you cry, Juli,” Fury said as she prepared to take her leave. “Only weak women cry; women who can't take charge of their destinies. You of all people should know that. Now, when I return I expect to see that handsome houseboy of the von Klausners—what's his name? Aldo?—on your arm proposing marriage. I promise to spend all my time thinking about a suitable wedding present,” she teased.

“You take care of her!” Juli growled to her brother as they rode away. “Don't shame me. Tell the others what I've said, too!”

The moment Fury stepped aboard the
Rana,
her confidence returned. “All hands to the quarter deck,” she shouted, her eyes on the sky for some sign of the hawks. When her crew was assembled, she made her announcement. The brothers all looked at one another, shuffling their feet.

At last the oldest spoke. “Does the capitana think we aren't capable men?” he asked brusquely.

“Not at all,” Fury replied. “I think you're more than capable, and I'm proud to sail with you. It's your families. . . . I don't think I could live with myself if anything happened to you. Juli would never forgive me. There's no telling how much of a fight this impostor will put up, and I've no idea whether I can best her. We might be evenly matched in a fight, but . . . what I mean is, I know you are capable men, but . . .”

The oldest of the brothers grimaced. “We're with you, Capitana, and I don't think you need concern yourself with our well-being. All of us have been to sea and can defend ourselves as well as one another.”

Fury looked from one to the other, warmed and gratified by the stout confidence, the allegiance, she saw shining in their eyes. At last she smiled and nodded. “All right, then. We sail a westerly course through the Sunda Strait to open water and then a northwest course. We have a stiff breeze now and can possibly make up some time.”

She brought the glass to her eye to scan the sky overhead. “Gaspar, where are you?” she murmured. She'd been watching for hours, the bright sun blinding her, but still she searched. She should never have allowed herself to become so attached to them. “Please God,” she prayed, “let them be safe; they belong to You, as do all creatures great and small. Keep them safe and return them to me this one last time. When I leave this worldly place to join You, I will give them up to You. Until that time . . .” She sobbed deep in her throat and ran below to her cabin, where she wept in private—great heart-wrenching sobs at her loss. “Be merciful,” she pleaded. “They aren't wild birds any longer, they can't fend for themselves. They need me,” she wept into her pillow. “And I need someone to need me, to want me, beside You.”

 

The
Silver Lady
sliced through the crystal blue water at a speed approaching eleven knots, the Dutch ships trailing in her wake at less than nine. It irritated Luis that Peter Dykstra and the governors of Amsterdam considered the
Silver Lady
an escort, while in truth the Dutch ships were his escort.

“Carry the diamonds aboard the
Silver Lady,
and my lips are sealed regarding the Sea Siren's identity,” Dykstra had promised. It was his final offer. Luis had argued with Dykstra, called himself every name he could think of, berated himself, cursed himself . . . but in the end he'd agreed to bring the diamonds aboard. At this moment they rested in a velvet-lined cask marked VINEGAR in crude black letters.

All he wanted was to return to Spain in a healthy condition so he could lick his wounds and start over. He didn't want the Dutchman's commission or his damnable diamonds, but he was stuck with both, thanks to his feelings for Fury van der Rhys. He hadn't meant to fall in love, but he had. And now that love would be his undoing.

“Women,” he snorted, “should be put together on an island so they could make one another miserable instead of wreaking havoc with men's hearts.”

He should have gone to the casa; he'd had the time to say good-bye. Why hadn't he gone when the priest suggested it? Because, he told himself, he didn't dare gaze upon Fury's beautiful face. He knew he would have begged, like a fool, to . . . to . . .

Luis whipped the glass to his eye, more to drive the thoughts from his head than to scan the waters surrounding him. He felt bruised, battered, and sad of heart at his loss. Would there ever be another woman who could stir him as Fury had done?

“Captain, Captain . . . look! Overhead! What is it? Jesus Christ! It's those devil birds! Captain! Look!”

“I see them. Quiet!” he roared. He watched, mesmerized at the sight of the black birds in the distance. A chill raced down his arms. Wherever the birds were, Fury was close by. . . . They were closer now, their wings fanning the air, their screeches carrying on the stiff breeze.

Soon the hawks were directly overhead, circling the mainmast at a dizzying speed. Luis's heart began to pound. Why were they here? Where was Fury?

Up, up, up they soared in a straight line until they were almost out of sight. Luis brought the glass to his eye and could see only the brilliant blue sky. Then, suddenly, he saw both birds descend at a speed equal to a cannon shot. He swallowed, his heart in his mouth, when Gaspar checked his descent in midair, his wings flapping to create his own breeze, before he settled on the ship's quarter rail, just inches from where Luis was standing. The moment Pilar took her position nearby, he let his breath out in a long, explosive sigh.