Raven Quest

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “I know you’re worried about having money to buy information from Padre Fernando,” she continued.

  “This is your money, Rory.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why this sudden generosity?”

  “Why must you question it?”

  He grabbed her hand as she was about to race out of his quarters. Twisting her to face him, he could not speak the truth that when he touched her even thoughts of the gold vanished. Again, he forced that thought aside. “Why are you giving me this?”

  She raised her beguiling eyes, and his fingers slipped along her arm. Drawing it away from him, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Nathan, I lied to you.”

  “Several times.”

  “You could have gone to speak with the Blindman without me helping.”

  “But I was gullible enough to believe a rascal who hadn’t given me a straight answer since we met.” He smiled. “So you couldn’t resist cleaning my pockets.”

  “I thought you had plenty of gold! After all, you agreed to my price so quickly.” She bit her lip before whispering, “Now I know you need it. Take it, and find your dream.”

  He put the coins into the bag as he stood. “And what about your dreams?”

  A sad smile lurched across her lips. “A woman like me should never dream.”

  “A woman like you?”

  “I’m the illegitimate daughter of a privateer and a woman who sold herself into servitude.”

  He frowned. “I thought you said you didn’t hate your father any longer.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why do you hate yourself?”

  She pointed at the bag of coins. “Will you take this?”

  “Yes, but Rory—”

  She was gone before he could ask another question. Looking at the bag he still held, he threw it on the table. He started to storm after her; then he paused and picked it up again. Was he the fool everyone had accused him of being? He could not throw away all these years of searching just because of a woman who did not want him. When he was wealthy, he could have any woman he wanted.

  But you want Rory.

  With a curse, he stuck the pouch in his breeches. He strode out onto the deck and grabbed a tankard from one of his men. There was more than one way to forget her. Tonight, rum would ease his ache for her. Later, the gold would … he hoped.

  Rory plumped the pillow under her head. Last night, it had seemed so soft. Tonight, it was as uncomfortable as a rock. She tugged on her chemise, but it clung to her legs. Lying back, she watched the starlight climb up and down the wall with every motion of the ship. It was long past midnight, but sleep eluded her as if it were noon.

  The timbers creaked as the ship strained against its sails and the sea. Voices rumbled on the deck as the men standing watch guided the Vengeance over the waves. A scent came in along with the salty breeze, and she realized it must be even later than she had guessed, for the cook was starting the day’s cooking in the galley below.

  From somewhere, a tenor voice sang a chantey. She listened to the melody, one she had not heard in Port Royal. Like a lullaby, it soothed her to sleep.

  When the latch lifting roused her, she had no idea how long she had been asleep. She reached for her knife, which she placed each night on the small table by her bed. Only when her hand met nothing but air did she remember she was on the Vengeance.

  A hearty laugh warned her that Nathan was entering. She frowned. What was he doing? She did not move as he closed the door. He sat on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. The dim light reflected off his smile as he ordered, “Move over!”

  “Are you mad?”

  He laughed, and the scent of rum wafted from him. “You heard me, Rory. Move over.”

  “You can’t sleep here! You said—”

  “This is my bed, Rory, and I’m tired of sleeping on a hammock.” He shoved her closer to the wall. “I don’t mind sharing my bed with you.”

  “I’m sure you don’t, but—” She gasped as he stretched out and drew the blanket over him. She would not let him have his way. She would sleep somewhere else. It would not be comfortable on the deck, but she had slept in uncomfortable places before. She rose to her knees.

  Nathan turned, with a laugh, and grasped her upper arms. He jerked her down on top of him.

  “No!” she screamed.

  “Oh yes, there is room for both of us here,” he murmured against her ear.

  His strong chest against her sent a streak of desire the length of her. His hands framed her face, bringing her lips to his. She tried to wiggle away, but he rolled her onto her back. Gentle kisses softened her beneath him, but she fought the incredible yearning.

  “Nathan, you said you wouldn’t—” She moaned as his mouth moved along her throat. When his fingers swept up along her breast, she splayed her fingers across his back. Delicious yearning ached deep within her.

  “You lied to me, Rory. I lied to you. Now I want you to lie with me.”

  She tried to pull away again. How could she be so foolish? She could not let her craving for him control her. “No! I don’t love you!”

  “Love?” He scowled. “I don’t want your love. I ache for your sweet body.” As he touched the skin on the inside of her leg, tingles flickered through her. “You want that, too.”

  She shook her head and pushed his questing fingers away. “If I yearned for a man’s touch, I had plenty of opportunities in Port Royal. I want a man I can love.”

  “Where have you ever seen love? In the brothel where you worked?”

  “Let me go!”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “You want an answer? All right. I know what love isn’t. It isn’t bedding a man for a glitter of gold.” She raised her chin. “Just because I gave you my gold, Nathan, don’t expect that I’ll give you anything else.”

  When she pushed him away, she was surprised he moved. She scooped up the blanket and wrapped it around her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, sitting.

  “Out on deck.”

  He laughed darkly. “The crew will be glad to find you out there alone in the night.”

  “Maybe I’d prefer to be with one of them!” She walked out of the cabin. “At least, maybe one of them won’t be drunk!”

  Nathan cursed as he stood. He swayed. Maybe he was a little drunk, but being here on this ship with her, knowing she was sleeping in his bed, wanting her so much was enough to make any man seek solace in rum. He reached for the latch, then hesitated. He did not want to hurt her. That was why he let her go. As he had too often, he asked himself why he wanted her. All she did was create trouble.

  He tugged on his shirt and followed her onto the deck. He picked out her silhouette near the railing. When he saw a man step from the shadows, a flare of jealousy and fury shocked him. It eased when he saw the man was Ernest.

  Nathan watched as Ernest patted her shoulder gently. He should treat her just like his first mate did, like a younger sister. Rory deserved that because, for once, she had been unquestioningly honest with him. She longed to be with a man she could love. She needed someone who would be with her all her days and all her nights. He was not that man. He had been tied down too long to the responsibilities of the rock-strewn farm he had sold to buy this ship.

  He crossed the deck. When Rory faced him, he saw her sorrow and betrayal. He had treated her as everyone else in her life had, trying to find more and better ways to use her. Pain twisted in his gut.

  “Rory, go back to bed,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back so he could not give into the temptation to touch her.

  Ernest cleared his throat. “Cap’n, we were talking privately.”

  “I’m sure I know about what.” He looked back at her, wishing he could be the wind that coursed through her hair. “You’re right, Rory. I was drunk.”

  “Was?”

  “Nothing sobers up a man like being forced to see he’s a fool.” He moved aside. �
�I won’t disturb your sleep again.”

  She took one cautious step, then another. Edging past him, she said, “Good night.” The blanket fluttered behind her as she rushed into the cabin.

  Ernest growled, “How could you be so stupid?”

  “I drank rum to forget how much I wanted her.” He leaned on the rail. “It only persuaded me to forget everything else, including any good sense.”

  “If you’ve frightened her, she may jump ship in Havana. As wily as she is, we’ll never find her amid all those twisting streets.” Ernest slammed his fist into the railing. “Cap’n, we’ve come too far in our search for this gold to make a mistake now.”

  He deserved this dressing down. Ernest had taught him to sail this ship and command its crew, as well as the caution needed each time they stepped ashore in their quest for Spanish gold. Ernest had never spared words when riled, and he did not tonight.

  “Cap’n, she’s not just any woman. She is our only way to find this gold. If she vanishes, we’ll lose any chance we had. Powell would not have been careless enough to let anyone else know the location of his treasure.” He scowled. “There will be other women in Havana. There will never be another cache of gold like the Raven’s.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Of the gold or of Miss Rory?” He sighed. “Cap’n, I think you’ve got to make up your mind which of Powell’s treasures you want more because if you aren’t careful, you may lose both.”

  “I want the gold.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Yes.” He looked toward the bow where the sails tried to fly away, pulling the ship with them toward where the Raven’s gold waited. He was certain of that. He wanted the gold. Nothing must halt him from getting it. Not even his yearning for the woman who held the key to finding it.

  Seven

  “Ouch!” Rory released the rail and pulled out a splinter.

  How much longer could Nathan and Ernest be gone? They had rowed into Havana soon after sunrise, telling her to wait while they found out if Padre Fernando was alive. Wiping her hand against her sweaty nape, for the sun was strong here on deck when the ship was idle, she looked at the heavily armed Castillo del Morro at the mouth of the harbor. Its walls were as impenetrable as the one Nathan had built around him. She should be grateful because he treated her with courtesy, nothing more. It was as she had asked, but she missed his kisses and his arms around her.

  “Who are you?” shouted a member of the crew.

  She whirled to see a stranger swinging his leg over the other railing and jumping to the deck. By the Vengeance floated a small boat. The man strode past the crewman and looked down his aquiline nose at her. That imperious attitude branded him a harbor official. She had seen his counterpart in Port Royal. She would deal with him as she had with the officials who tried to squeeze a few extra pennies from the tavern. When she had finished with them, they had not returned.

  “Buenos días, señorita,” he said, bowing over her hand. When she did not reply, he added, “Good morning. Are you the owner of this ship?”

  “No, sir, I’m not the owner. My name is Rory Mullins. May I help you?”

  “I am Elio de Palma, the harbormaster. It is my pleasure to welcome you to Havana.”

  Her lips twitched. His appraisal of her was easy to read. Señor de Palma considered her a pretty but worthless ornament on this ship. She faltered. Was that what she was now? Neither Nathan nor Ernest spoke to her about their plans any longer.

  “Señorita Mullins?”

  Looking at Señor de Palma, she said, “Captain Lawler has gone to present his papers to your superiors. I’m sure he will be quite happy to cooperate with you when he returns.”

  “I shall wait for him.” He smiled. “Why are you visiting Havana?”

  “My father used to sail these waters, and I wished to do the same.”

  “Larks are a luxury of the wealthy.”

  Rory fought to keep her smile. She must not give this astute man any more information than was necessary. “I am so sorry to delay you, Señor de Palma. I know what a busy man you must be. Captain Lawler should be back soon.”

  “How long do you plan to stay in Havana?”

  “Captain Lawler can tell you that better than I.”

  He muttered something in Spanish, before adding in English, “Excuse me. You speak no Spanish, Señorita Mullins?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He picked up a loosened tendril of her hair and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. When she gasped in outrage, he smiled coldly. “That puts you at a disadvantage in Havana. If you need help, I will be happy to assist you.”

  Jerking her head away, she glared at him. “That is very kind of you, Señor de Palma, but no thank you.”

  “Yes, very kind of you, señor,” echoed a deeper voice from behind the harbormaster. Nathan stepped around de Palma, his hand resting lightly on his pistol. “Who are you?”

  “Elio de Palma, the harbormaster. Are you the master of the Vengeance?”

  “I’m Captain Lawler. I have presented my papers to the satisfaction of the port authorities. Why are you here?”

  “English privateers are not welcome here, Captain.”

  “As I’m sure Miss Mullins has told you, we are here for the simple purpose of seeing Havana. I must ask you to leave posthaste, Señor de Palma.”

  “Good day, Señorita Mullins,” de Palma said with another bow. Firing a venomous glare at Nathan, he climbed down the ladder and ordered his man to row him back to the shore.

  “Spanish cur!” snarled Ernest as he walked toward them.

  Waving aside his outrage, Nathan asked, “What did you tell him, Rory?”

  She frowned. “I told him nothing, of course.”

  “What did he ask?”

  “The usual.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

  Nathan grumbled a curse. This was the longest they had talked in days because he had been avoiding her and the craving that burst forth each time he beheld her sea-blue eyes. Ernest glanced at him, then away, but not before Nathan saw the recriminations on his face. Wasn’t this coolness between him and Rory what his first mate had hoped for?

  Blast it! He needed to forget her and think about the gold which might be theirs so soon.

  “Let’s keep the crew on alert,” he said. “We need to be ready to take the Vengeance out at the first signal of trouble.”

  “And the three of us can call on Padre Fernando after siesta this afternoon.”

  “You aren’t considering taking Rory with us, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No! She stays here, where she’ll be safe.”

  Ernest finally looked at him. “Cap’n, she is our excuse to speak with Padre Fernando. If we don’t take a few chances, we’ll never find Powell’s gold.”

  “We, but not Rory.”

  “Once it’s known she has any connection with the Raven, she will be in more danger out here alone.”

  Nathan looked across the gently rocking deck. With Rory’s back to him, her rigid shoulders were nearly hidden by her luxurious hair. His fingers tingled as he thought of that silk sweeping across him while he held her close. He did not want to imperil a single strand.

  He smiled. “At least if she goes with us, I won’t have to argue with her about staying aboard the Vengeance. I will need your help in keeping track of her, especially if your friend is as interested in women as he is reputed to be.”

  “No need to worry. He’s well over sixty, Cap’n.”

  “I haven’t noticed the passing of years slowing you down.”

  The first mate chuckled. “Practice keeps a man ready.” His smile fell. “I sure would like to see that Olive at Yellow Hal’s. She was a sweet woman—and one who knew what a man likes when he holds her.”

  Nathan was about to jest with him about losing his heart, then saw Ernest was sincere. Why hadn’t he mentioned this woman before they sailed? It did not matter now. They would never
go back to Port Royal. Only forward to find the Raven.

  Rory stepped out of the hired carriage into the heavy air. In Jamaica, she had avoided the day’s worst heat by staying inside the taproom. When she pulled her shawl over her head to hide her hair as the other women on Havana’s streets did, Nathan laughed. The sound was like a sweet breath of cool air.

  “What is so funny?” she asked, smiling as she had not since their argument in his bed.

  “Look at you! Weeks ago you were an urchin in patched knee breeches. Now you look like a planter’s wife on her way to Sabbath services.”

  “Me? You are positively puritanical in that outfit.” She could not help admiring the velvet coat that was closed to his knees. His shirtsleeves were edged by a narrow strip of lace, and he carried a tricorn hat decorated with a plume.

  “No worse than Ernest.”

  She laughed, for she had never seen Ernest in anything but tattered clothes. Now his sparse hair was brushed neatly, and his clothes were as stylish as Nathan’s.

  When Nathan offered his arm as they walked to a small gate in a wall, she put her hand on it. Her heart thudded against her chest. The firm line of his arm urged her to stroke it as she drew it around her. Gazing up at him, she held her breath as his fingers rose to her face.

  Nathan lurched against her as Ernest pulled the string to ring the bell.

  “Sorry to bump you, Cap’n,” he mumbled.

  Nathan started to answer, but the door opened. Ernest spoke in rapid Spanish. The woman, garbed in a black shawl covering her from head to foot, shook her head and started to close the door.

  Angrily, Ernest put out his hand to halt it and said something else Rory could not understand. Nor could she understand why he had jostled Nathan. She had not guessed the first mate wanted to keep her and Nathan from smoothing over their differences.

  “Come on,” he growled. “She’ll let us in while she checks with the padre.”

  “Will he see us?” asked Nathan.

  “I’m not sure, Cap’n. Our ties of friendship were never too tight to begin with.”

  The bent woman in black motioned for them to enter. When Rory stepped through the door, Nathan laced her fingers through his. She smiled at the woman, but the old woman rushed away down a passageway leading into the shadows.