by Angel Payne
She hiked her skirts and got ready to run to him. But the sky exploded again, this time with a blast from the Athena. She shrank behind a crate, slamming her palms over her ears. When she lifted her head again, Mast was gone from the position in which she’d spotted him. Her throat clutched in dread before she found him again, now just a few feet away.
Her instinct warned her not to get any closer. Her heart knotted at the reason why.
Mast’s face was a collection of severe angles, as always. But his intensity halted at his sweat-drenched neckerchief. His hands hung wearily at his sides. He rested back on one leg as he consulted with Robert, instead of rooting himself to the deck with his usual braced stance. His shoulders looked as if the weight of the world was too heavy to bear anymore.
Golden’s chest tightened harder when he and Robert stepped closer toward her, allowing her to hear their conversation.
“The bastard’s got us by the bangers this time, Captain.”
“Carlos was bound to get lucky one day.”
Carlos?
Mast had apologized for using her first name, but El Culebra was Carlos to him?
“Fuck,” Robert spat. “He’s had it in for you forever.”
Mast’s face contorted before he wiped it with his elbow. “Feels like it, doesn’t it, Rob?” His reply resonated with undiluted fury. “You’d better send Ramses below now for more cartridges and pistol balls.”
There was a leaden pause. “You’re aware we’re almost out?”
“Aye, damn it, I know. But we’re going to need that extra fire as diversion when we let the jibs out and pray for half a chance to fox ourselves out of this.”
“And if we don’t succeed?”
Mast’s hesitation was telling. And petrifying.
“If we don’t succeed, Master Gunner Teach, then I want you and Dink on the quarter deck with me when they board.”
Golden’s fingers flew to her mouth. Her gaze raked the sky in wild disbelief then fell again to the menacing form across the water. Like the dragon, the enemy frigate appeared, more vicious orange blasts roared from El Culebra’s cannons. Mast and Robert released oaths in unison. She saw only their backs as they ran off in their respective directions.
Her gaze persisted on Mast. Her hand followed suit by its own unthinking accord, trailing after him, itching to pull him back on his long and powerful legs. She longed to hold him close through this hot and confusing insanity.
Somehow, she got to her feet.
“It’s not that bad,” she tried to reassure herself. “Mast loves this ship. He’d never let it go. He must be wrong. Or maybe just confused.”
That was it. Everything was confusing. Everyone was shouting and shooting at once. The smoke thickened, insinuating things that weren’t there and shielding dangers that were. Everything was upside down and inside out. It couldn’t be real. It was too senseless to be.
That was what you thought twelve years ago, Golden.
Her body coiled again and her eyes squeezed shut. “No!” she gritted to the memories—and the terror they pounded in her veins. She willed herself to keep up the defiance, finally unfurling her fists and raising her head to the wind.
“I am not helpless anymore.” It came out shakily but she countered it with a long steady breath. “I am not helpless anymore.”
She took another bold breath. It was getting easier each time.
With growing courage, she surrendered her mind to her senses…her thoughts to her feelings…and her fears to her instincts.
A heart-pounding few minutes later, she took an identical breath to bolster herself as she swung her bare legs over the aft rail. One of the cuffs of Mast’s shirt fell out of the roll she’d made of it. She angrily jerked the fabric back to her elbow. The sash she’d grabbed to secure the shirt about her waist was coming loose, too. She twisted another knot rather than retie the bloody thing. This was no time for fashion.
She straightened her face into the wind and pushed off.
She sliced the choppy surface just where she’d planned. The water tasted worse than the air. She spat at the sooty stuff and cursed in Caribbee, wondering how ugly she really looked in the doing. Wait. What better practice could she have for the performance ahead? The performance of her life.
She made her way through the swells and nearer El Culebra’s ship. From down here, the ships were hulking, overpowering monsters. If that wasn’t intimidating enough, Golden heard demonic cackles, evil laughter, and sleazy catcalls as she swam closer to the enemy frigate. Many of the voices were already slurred. It sounded like the pirate was allowing his men an early victory celebration. That could only help her.
She only wished it gave her more nerve now.
“Agwe, give me strength.”
She looked up at the faces that went with the derisive jeers. She’d not seen a more wicked lot elsewhere. Dirty brown faces flashed gold teeth and leered with missing eyes. Rum bottles got passed to grimy mouths along the frigate’s rail.
Except one mouth, Golden noticed. One pair of lips on one dark-brown face smiled calmly as the liquor flowed by. The expression broke only once, becoming a fierce grimace just when some of the liquor splashed on his ornate red and gold satin frock coat. The black stock atop the jacket looked made of the same thick black hair that was tied back from the man’s smooth aristocratic face.
“El Culebra,” she gasped. The beautiful, yet lethal snake.
Saints and spirits, I really need strength.
Both heavenly parties were clearly listening. An instant response came to her prayer in the form of a soot-covered gray snout which moved up beneath her.
She laughed as Nirvana clickered. With her friend’s help, she was peering up the far side of the pirate ship within a minute. Golden hugged Nirvana in gratitude before reaching for the carelessly-hanging rope that would, she hoped, support her climb into the enemy’s floating lair.
The jib sails unfurled and snapped as they caught the wind. Mast felt his ship’s instant response to the new power, turning to look as the Athena angled back closer to the frigate’s stern—and the weakened hull there, thanks to Robert and Ben’s aim.
But he was a fool if he thought the pounding in his chest was excitement for the upcoming encounter.
“Christ,” he muttered. If this were any other voyage, he’d would be the first to welcome a face-to-face challenge with this bastard. He’d even take the first step to Carlos Nanchez himself, man to man and nobody else, in a quest to settle all the years of confusion and conflict between them, for once and for all.
If this were any other voyage. If his entire body wasn’t clenching at the image of Carlos throwing open the hatch to the food hold to discover a pair of fiery eyes and a snarl of passionate hate greeting. If his inner ear would only stop hearing Carlos’s laugh as he ordered his men to “restrain” the lustful creature, in every sense of the word…
Fury didn’t just spark this time. It exploded.
“Robert!” he bellowed. “Robert!” He whirled through the sweltering gray tumult, ignoring the smoke that stung his eyes and the sweating rivers down his face and neck. He ran faster, trying to forget the hammering pain in his head—and the unrelenting torture of his thoughts.
Robert’s hardy profile couldn’t have loomed ahead a second too soon. Mast dashed to where his master gunner rammed shot into another cannon. “Double it,” he commanded.
“What?” Robert’s eyes bulged with incredulity.
“You heard what I said. Double the cartridge.”
“You’re flammin’ me, right?”
“Do it now.”
“No! Noooo!”
The moan flooded his ears at the same instant the petite body almost toppled him to the deck. Mast reached and seized a pair of thin brown arms in instinctual anger, but checked himself when a terrified cocoa gaze penetrated his sights.
“Maya, what the hell are you doing up—”
He choked out his own interruption. Understanding sent icy b
lades through his body. “Where is she?” he demanded. “What’s she done? Tell me, Maya!”
“I—I don’t know! She leave—she say she need to help. I stayed but got much fear when I heard the big boom. I hoped she be here with you.”
“Fuck. She’s not.”
“You can bet your balls she isn’t!”
Every head on the deck snapped at Rico’s astonished bellow. The normally unflappable South American stumbled backward. Mast released Maya and sprinted to Rico’s side. He swept his long glass to his eye.
“Saint Chris have mercy.” Ramses seconded Rico’s shock as he bounded up, his keen vision guiding his finger across the waves. “He’s right, Captain. There; on the far side of the aft capstan.”
“Damn her.” He hadn’t spotted her yet, but Mast was certain the oath would be appropriate when he did.
He wasn’t wrong. God in heaven, she looked hideous. He couldn’t figure out what she was wearing even through the magnification of the glass, but it was dripping wet and encrusted with layers of gooey black grime. Her legs were also coated with the stuff, making her legs dark as Maya’s. Mast swore again as she scraped more of it from the capstan and smeared it over her face.
“The wench is loco,” Rico exclaimed.
“Or bloody brilliant,” old Ben put in.
“What the bejesus does she think she’s doing?” Robert stammered.
“Damn you, hellion.” Mast never dropped his eye from the long glass, as if he could somehow protect her through it. But his gut knew better, wrenching in reminder of his true state of helplessness.
But the real agony came with the sudden jest the trade wind played, blowing a bank of their own smoke back at them, erasing her from his view.
His curse of frustration was drowned by a terrible screech from the opposite deck. He didn’t have to search his memory far to recall where his heart had stopped at that sound before. It was during that first wind-whipped night, when he’d heard Golden before ever seeing her. When the French had bound her like an animal.
Holy God, what a maggot like Carlos Nanchez would do.
“Make ready!” His terror was so unthinking, the order thundered out before he realized it. “Make ready to bring her close! I’m going aboard the frigate!”
“I’m joining you,” Robert thundered.
“And me.”
“And me.”
The cries went up again and again. Despite how Mast’s mind and body burned at thinking of the fate he’d render to Carlos if the bastard so much as breathed on Golden, he gave in to the tug at his mouth. Were these the same men who stood here a fortnight ago in fear of the murdering “sea witch”—now preparing to die for her? The aye of his mind in answer to that came without a shred of shock. Only pure wonderment.
Then crashing terror once more. Those bags of syphilis would watch him toss their diseased dicks over their own yardarm if he found a single fingerprint on Golden.
A new attack bellowed from the enemy ship. A cry of outrage rose from his men. The two vessels shifted closer to each other. Closer.
“Dink, you’ll lead from this deck,” he boomed. “Rob will second me in the ropes. Hold her steady!” Hold on steady, hellion, he shouted mentally across the waves.
Securing his rapier at one side of his body and his pistol at the next, he hoisted into the shrouds. Robert followed an instant later, just below his left hip. Through the smoke and the noise, they climbed higher, higher still. Mast was determined to get the best angle he could get when he swung to the opposite deck. He’d only have one chance and he had to make it count.
The conjecture proved fact when he turned at the crest of his climb and took in the scene on Nanchez’s deck. Since bitterly leaving the Athena twelve years ago, Carlos had made it widely known that “El Culebra, the new terror of the Main” would accept only the dirtiest and deadliest men beneath his jack. The swarm of vermin below filled that standard. The animals scratched and beat at each other to get a prime place at their rail for the battle they could smell coming, baring mouths of greasy little teeth.
“Lucifer’s balls,” Robert muttered. “Does Carlos toss ’em raw shark for supper?”
Mast grunted. “Goddamnit, if any of them have so much as touched her…where the fuck have they taken her?”
The answer to that was more forthcoming than he realized. And a thousand times more astonishing.
First, there were only the terrified, croaking yowls, distinct even through the layers of deck they could be heard through. The noise didn’t go unnoticed by Carlos and his men, either. But they’d barely recognized the hitch when a crowd of crewmen burst up from the gunnery deck, eyes bulging and limbs flailing. “Bruja!” they shrieked. “Bruja, bruja!”
“By the saints,” Rico exclaimed.
“What’re they sayin’, Ric?” Robert asked.
“Bruja,” Mast interceded. His voice was equally amazed. “Witch.”
She burst to life before their eyes, wild and grimy and shrieking like a harpy straight from hell. She bared her teeth on a supernatural screech as she leapt atop a capstan, tearing at her hair and eyeing the petrified pirates as if selecting which of them to gobble first. Many refused to stay and find out. They raced to the railing and leapt over. The remaining sailors pushed and tripped over each other in their efforts to avoid becoming the intent of that gleaming topaz stare.
“I’ll be damned,” Ben yelled in amazement.
“She’s playin’ ’em like a jig!” Robert added.
“They really believe she’s the sea witch!”
Rico chuckled. “Well, Captain. Doesn’t seem the question is where they took her—but where she’s taking them.”
Mast could do nothing but agree. Sure enough, the opposite deck started moving away from them. As the pirate ship’s main sail caught the wind, Carlos’s frigate sliced an anxious retreat away from the Athena. But they hadn’t gotten so far that they couldn’t witness Golden’s finale: a wail that woke every angel in the heavens, a writhing dance over to and then atop the rail, then a screaming descent into the water.
“Damn me and slam me,” Robert bellowed. “She did it!” The men seconded him with a massive roar of victory.
Mast’s muscles went numb with relief.
The next instant, they stiffened with pure fury.
The sensations wrestled each other as he watched, along with the men, as a dripping blonde head appeared in the waves below, being towed by an eager dolphin. Damn it if both the woman and the fish weren’t grinning from ear to ear.
She was radiant as everyone clamored to help her over the rail. Several jugs of fresh water were produced to slosh the soot from her unbearably sleek curves. Golden laughed and hugged her bathers. Rico was next with the blanket from his own bunk, wrapping it around her like a boy with a newborn kitten. Everyone shouted at her at once but she seemed to answer every man with grace, bestowing each with a sparkling gaze and a speech-robbing smile as she did.
Mast stayed rooted to a spot just beyond the edge of the mob. It was torture, but he did it. He coiled his arms against his chest to resist slamming through the mob, ramming her against him, then dragging her off so he could spank her witless for her stupidity. Damn her. She was beautiful—and maddening. He wanted to take that incredible, brave neck she’d just risked for him and strangle it—then mark every inch of it with his lips, teeth, and tongue.
“Where is he?” he could hear her asking. “Has anyone seen Mast? I need to see…”
Her voice died as she broke through the crowd and came to stand before him. Her lips lifted in a precious, trembling smile, like a soaked London beggar waif seeking a scrap of food…or affection. Her eyes were huge topazes, gleaming with anticipation and expectation. Mast swallowed as he met that gaze directly, but then his eyes were dragged down to the wet sheen of her lips, slightly parted in wordless offering. I did it for you.
She hadn’t lifted a finger, but the blow was just as physical. He stepped back, fumbling and unsure.
Terrified.
He could think of one thing to say.
“Damn it, Golden. You’ve ruined one of my best linen shirts.”
Chapter Thirteen
She sought out the formal clothes first. The satin waistcoats and embroidered jackets made a brilliantly colored storm as she hurled them across the cabin with an invigorating scream.
After that, the rage really took over. All the doubts and the confusion and the utter futility of the last week crashed in and Golden didn’t care what she threw next, as long as it was clean—and his.
Mast appeared just before the third armful. Underdrawers. With furious delight, she stomped closer to assure a bulls-eye.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she jeered as the white cotton mound covered his face, “that was shirts you wanted, my lord? Begging your highness’s forgiveness, but we’re well out. Seems a mindless little barbarian soiled them all while risking her life for some pirate’s ship in the Indies!”
“Golden.” His voice was a clenched growl. He stepped across the mess toward her.
“Wait. That was privateer, not pirate, ay? Bestow your blessed forgiveness on me again. We island pagans can be so twiddlepated.”
He shrugged. “Hmm. You’ve landed on the truth at last.”
She threw his neckerchiefs down and glared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t blink those bratty eyes at me.” He’d reached her side. With one effortless yank, he had her hauled up next to him. “You heard what I said.”
“I heard nothing.” She jerked against him. He wasn’t going to dominate his way all over her this time. “Your words make even my ears want to retch.”
“They aren’t gorged on soot and salt water already?” He rolled his eyes but the look belied his own dark tension. “Fuck. That didn’t help the boil in my blood.”
“Really?” She arched her brows. “The boil in your blood, Captain?” Forget the brows. She bared her teeth at the bastard. “Sorry I’ve caused you a bad night. Maybe I’ll go see if El Culebra still has some room.”
