by Kimberly Nee
“You did what?”
“It was a moment of weakness. She’s lost her ship, just as I lost mine. Markham has offices in Jamaica and I saw no harm in a short voyage to Port Royal.”
“Dios mio…” Iñigo broke off into rapid-fire Spanish, swearing a wide streak as Diego grinned. This was a habit they shared, but Iñigo tended to be a bit more creative where his choice of words was concerned, and when he found a rhythm, there was little point in interrupting. So Diego merely turned about to watch the nighttime routine onboard the main deck. A handful of men remained topside, mopping, lugging water, finishing up on chores such as rope making. The majority of the crew would be in the foc’sle, no doubt, most likely involved in a heated game of Aluette or another game of chance.
Finally, Iñigo’s rant ended and Diego said, “Finished?”
Iñigo threw out several more choice phrases, then nodded. “I think so.”
“So you will talk to Finn?”
“I already tried, my friend.” Iñigo’s grin was both rueful and apologetic. “And that was before those two tried their best to kill one another. No, I think you will have to speak with her again, Diego. Me, she will ignore. But perhaps, if you’re persistent enough, she will finally listen to you.”
It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. It would be a rather uncomfortable conversation, no doubt. It was not something he was entirely happy discussing with a woman. But, Iñigo knew his wife and he was most likely correct in that she would listen to him, Diego, before she would listen to her husband on this matter. “Very well. Where is she?”
“She was in our cabin. But that was just after supper. For all I know, she might be in Gabby’s cabin, smothering her with a pillow.”
“She is blood-thirsty enough to attempt such a thing.”
“That she is. But that fire is what makes her so… Finn.”
Diego resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he stepped away from the railing. “So you’ll not be offended if I go and speak with her now?”
“As long as all you do is talk, I don’t see the harm.”
Diego chuckled ruefully as he turned away from the railing and made his way below to Iñigo’s cabin. He rapped on the door. “Finn?”
Footsteps sounded just beyond the door, and when she pulled it open, Fiona’s forehead was creased with worry. “Diego? Is something the matter?”
“No. All is well. I just wanted to have a word with you, if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” She opened the door wider, stepping aside as she bid him entry. She was dressed in a pale pink silk gown, a wrapper drawn loosely over it. She gathered it more tightly, tying the belt at her waist as she asked, “Is something the matter with you?”
“I wanted to thank you, for your concern. I understand you and Gabby had words, prior to your scuffle on deck,”
Her skin, already coppery from her Carib heritage, reddened further, but she held his stare easily. “Yes. We did. Neither of us was shy about speaking our mind. Unfortunately, there is no middle ground.”
One of her best qualities was that she shied away from nothing, shirked no responsibility and played no games. She was straightforward and honest and felt little need to beat around the bush, no matter how uncomfortable the subject.
“And you felt the need to confront her on my behalf. Why?”
“Actually, Gabby confronted me. She seemed to think I should cower before her and beg her pardon. She was mistaken. But somehow, I don’t think that’s why you’re here.” Finn gestured to the table toward the rear of the spacious cabin running the width of the back of the ship. The back wall was two rows of small windows, every other one opened to allow the night air to waft in. “Come. Sit. I will make us some tea.”
Tea wasn’t exactly his beverage of choice, but he nodded and followed her down the three steps to the rear of the cabin. There, at the table, a book lay open, a stiff strip of watered silk tucked into the binding. “Do you read for yourself or for Iñigo now?”
“Mostly for me, but the more difficult things are for him. He went to such lengths to teach me and I do rather enjoy it, though I find Shakespeare terribly boring at times. But—” she set the copper kettle atop the stove and grinned at him over her shoulder, “—do not tell Iñigo. As far as he is concerned, the sun rises and sets on old Will.”
Like Finn, he never fully understood what Iñigo found so enjoyable in books. He’d much rather be doing something than merely reading about someone else doing it. “My lips are sealed.”
“Which I appreciate.” She gathered her wrapper about herself as she sank into the chair across from him, and the smile faded from her strong features. “I apologize, if you think I overstepped my bounds, Diego. But I did it only out of concern for you.”
“Which I appreciate,” He sat back and stretched his legs out across the royal blue and gold Persian carpet. “Nonetheless, do you truly feel it is your place to oversee my lovers, Finn?”
“Is that what Gabby is, then? A lover?” A layer of disbelief lay thick over her words.
“Perhaps.”
“Well, no. I don’t suppose it is my place, but then again, I should think women who leap in and out of bed with any man who catches her eye—”
That curdled his gut. “Gabby is many things, Finn, but make no mistake, she is not a whore.”
Fiona pressed her lips together and didn’t speak for a long while. She fetched the boiling kettle from the small stove and poured hot water into the blue and white china teapot, where tea leaves steeped for several minutes. Then, she poured tea into small, ridiculously delicate-looking china cups.
Diego remained silent. He didn’t want his temper to flare up, as it would not do to end up in a shouting match with her over something that didn’t even concern her.
Fiona returned to the table, placing one of the cups before him. “I know it is not of my concern,” she began softly, her eyes direct as she held his gaze, “and perhaps I should not have said anything to her, but you are my friend.”
“And Adeline is also your friend.”
Her renewed flush told him his hint was right on the mark. Lifting her cup, Fiona did not look away as she said, “She is a widow now.”
His gut twisted, the pain sharp and swift, and he closed his eyes. “I know. Iñigo told me earlier. And I am sorry for Adeline’s loss. I lost a friend, but she lost a love.”
“No, she didn’t.”
Though his eyes were still closed, he knew she stared at him with those serious silver eyes of hers. Lovely though they were, they could also unnerve him, and he opened his eyes at her surprising words. “What?”
Fiona pulled a silver spoon through her tea. “No, she didn’t lose a love. She cared for Guillermo, no doubt, but she did not love him, I’m afraid.”
There it was. The pain in his gut now had nothing to do with Guillermo’s death, but Fiona’s insistence on meddling. “Finn—”
“Just listen, won’t you?” Silver clinked against china and she reached across the table to lay her hand over his wrist. “Gabby is everything Adeline is not. She is free and wild and untamed, like the oceans. Adeline is staid and true. Adeline loves you, and loves you deeply. Even after all this time, she still loves you, Diego. Is it so wrong that she wants to settle with you?”
He swallowed a groan. “No, but she loves the man she wishes me to be, Finn. Not the one I am.”
“And does Gabby? Does she even care for you, let alone love you?”
“If nothing else, she understands me.” The tea was hot and strong, hints of orange and jasmine playing about on his tongue. He would have preferred a rich coffee, but this wasn’t at all bad, either. He lowered the cup as Fiona continued to stare at him. “I know that isn’t what you wish to hear, but it’s the truth.”
“Adeline is my dearest friend. And you are Iñigo’s dearest friend. I like to think we are good friends as well.”
He shifted in his chair. Why did ladies always want to talk, to drag everything out and beat i
t like a filthy carpet? Perhaps confronting Fiona was not such a wise idea after all. “We are, but—”
Her forehead wrinkled, her eyes swirling pewter now, filled with something that wasn’t quite anger, not exactly disgust, but a blend of both. “Always a but.”
“Yes. A but. What happened between Addy and I is none of your concern, either, Finn. And Gabby had nothing to do with it, either.”
Fiona sniffed. “Oh, of course she did. I can see it in your face now, Diego. You still pine for her.”
He couldn’t hold back his laughter at that. “Pine? My dear Finn, I have never pined for a woman and I shall not start now. And I will thank you kindly to refrain from taking matters into your own hands when it comes to the women I choose to be with.”
“Diego, I—”
“Thank you, Finn, but your concern is unnecessary and unwarranted.” Fresh anger bubbled in the pit of his gut and it would be best to take himself from Iñigo’s cabin before he lost his grip on his temper. It wasn’t something that happened often, but when it did, it was akin to a volcano erupting. He didn’t want to jeopardize his friendship with either one of them.
She didn’t try to halt him as he stormed toward the door, but as he tugged it open, she called, “I do not wish to see you hurt again, Diego. That is all. And I am afraid that is exactly what is going to happen.”
He paused, but didn’t look back as he replied, “And again, I thank you for your concern, but it isn’t necessary.”
“Then I apologize for treading upon your toes. That was not my intention.”
He understood. Her heart was in the right place, she was simply more a warrior than a poet, so when Gabby confronted her, Finn's first inclination was to fight back. Still, that only mollified him a bit, and he said nothing else as he took his leave of her cabin.
He paused outside Gabby’s door. Total silence. He could only assume she was even in her cabin, as it was quite possible, and more than likely, she’d ventured into the foc’sle to take on any and all challengers. It was one of the reasons why her crew responded to her the way they did—they saw her as one of them. She was not a lady in their presence. She was their captain and she had been blessed with that gift—to simply be one of them.
He made his way to the foc’sle, pausing at the bottom of the stairs when he reached it. Sure enough, there was Gabby, surrounded by Iñigo’s crew, laughing, no doubt trading bawdy tale after bawdy tale with the others. Her sense of humor was ribald enough for even the crustiest of seamen, and as he leaned forward against the banister, a newfound sense of appreciation sank into him and he smiled.
As he did, Gabby looked up and caught his eye. Her smile wavered, but then she winked, and it was as if their battle had never happened. Mateo, sitting to her left, said something, and she threw back her head to let out a roar of laughter.
Her laugh, lush and sensual and filled with invitation, raked along Diego’s brain. Gabby loved to laugh, sometimes at inopportune moments, but there was something so appealing about it that he did what everyone around her did—joined in.
“What goes on here?” He waded into the smoke filled room. Gabby sat with Mateo, Juan Pedro, Miguel and Alejandro, at the baize-covered card table, her cards fanned in one hand and a cigar clamped between her lips.
“They are teaching me this Aluette,” she laughed, tossing her cards facedown onto the table, “but I think they’ve lied to me. The rules change with each hand.”
“They do nothing of the sort.” Mateo swayed as he reached for the tankard before him. “You are just a poor player.”
“I am not.” She plucked the cigar from between her teeth and thrust it at Diego. “Take this. It is terrible.”
He grinned down at her, accepting the chewed end to stick between his teeth. “Deal me in, Juan Pedro.”
“Oh…no…” Juan Pedro moaned in a jovial protest. “Now I stand no chance of winning my pieces of eight back. Mateo, shove over and let him sit by Captain Markham.”
“Captain Markham?” Diego sank down beside her on the bench. “I’m impressed. It took me two years before he addressed me as Captain Santa Cruz.”
Gabby glanced up at him, a sly smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, “Perhaps I wear the mantle of captain with greater ease.”
“I think it is because they are oafish men and you are a lovely female.”
“Oh. You wound me.”
“Then we are even.”
“Didn’t I apologize for our little spat?” she asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence as Miguel dealt the new hand.
“No. You didn’t.”
“That’s right—” she nudged him in the ribs with a playful elbow, “—because I was not the one who started it, was I?”
Her eyes sparkled with pleasure. Whether it was because she was in her element, or because she was pleased to see him, he couldn’t tell. Either way, as she smiled up at him it was difficult to ignore her pull. And when she leaned her head against his shoulder, it was all he could do to keep from bending forward to meet her lips. Never before had he wanted to kiss a woman more than he wanted to kiss Gabby. To refrain took every ounce of will he possessed.
Still, it was a most pleasant evening, and when she rose to return to her cabin, he rose also and said, “You will, of course, allow me to escort you back.”
“I hardly need an escort, Captain Santa Cruz,” she replied, even as she slipped her arm through his. “But if you insist…”
A round of catcalls rose from the table and her smile wavered at bit at their brutal reminder that she was not exactly one of them. Diego scowled at the group. “Enough, all of you. There will be none of that. Go to your bunks and sleep it off. There’ll be plenty to keep you busy come morning.”
Grumbles rose in a rumbling hum, but they dispersed to sleep off their inebriations. Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, Diego guided Gabby to the stairs and up onto the main deck.
As Iñigo predicted, foul weather rolled their way. The stars were gone, hidden beneath a thick blanket of clouds, and the winds picked up considerably. Diego frowned as he saw the silver trail of their wake had vanished.
“A storm’s coming in,” she remarked, her fingers twitching against his arm. “Perhaps you ought to warn Iñigo.”
“He knows. We spoke about it earlier.”
“I hope it isn’t a bad one,” she murmured, still staring up at the starless sky. “I was never fond of rough seas and that’s not changed.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about.” He guided her across the deck to the rear stairs leading to their cabins. “Iñigo’s faced just about every kind of weather Mother Nature could throw at him.”
“Would it be wrong of me to hope his wife is washed overboard?”
Her voice held a hint of humor, but he offered up a stern look as he replied, “She means well.”
She waved him off. “She needs learn to mind matters that do not concern her.”
“That she does. But she acts from the heart.”
“I don’t think she has a heart.”
He chuckled at that. “She does. And, under different circumstances, I should think the two of you would be friends. You are very much alike, you know.”
She pinched the inside of his arm. “I ought to brain you for even suggesting such nonsense.”
He laughed as they drew to a halt at her cabin door. Turning to face her, he said, “Good night, Gabby. Sleep well.”
“Good night, Diego. And thank you.”
“For what?”
The corridor was shadowy, mostly dark, but he heard the blush in her voice as she replied, “For setting them straight below.”
“Worry not, Gabby. I would not stand for such foolishness.”
“Just the same, I thank you.”
It was a surprise, but he smiled and leaned over to brush her forehead with his lips. “Sleep well, Gabby.”
“Good night, Diego.”
Chapter Sixteen
Gabby stood on the foredeck, taking in
the beauty of the island of St. Phillippe. The storm had blown them slightly off-course, but finally, they arrived. She’d never seen a more beautiful sight. Pale pink sand stretched out before them, and there were a handful of children running along the beach chasing seabirds. A lush jungle of dark green rose up along the hills behind the harbor, while villas of varying sizes with their pink stucco roofs broke up the swath.
A tangy-sweet aroma of roasted meats, spices and smoky, charred wood carried over the water toward them like a welcoming party. It mingled with the saltiness of the ocean air to create a delightful perfume and set her stomach to rumbling with appreciation, not to mention hunger. She was tired of stew and hardtack and couldn’t wait to sit down to a true meal.
A cove protected the harbor, with twin stone forts on the promontories on either side of its entrance. Beyond that cove stretched a tranquil harbor. Tranquil, but active, as ships flying flags of many different countries were either berthed or anchored there. Beyond the berths, a bustling marketplace teemed with life. Vendors shouted out their wares beneath canopies of turquoise and coral striped canvas. The number of dockside harlots was fewer than Gabby was accustomed to seeing, but that was most likely because St. Phillippe was a hidden jewel in the Caribbean.
She had dressed for her first visit to St. Phillippe in the brilliant blue and coral linen gown Fiona reluctantly loaned to her. Her hair, freshly washed and combed, fell loosely about her shoulders and swirled about her hips. It had been ages since she felt so pretty—almost giddily so. For some reason, she couldn’t wait to see Diego, to see his reaction.
As she stepped out into the golden sunshine, Diego awaited her at the gangplank, his back to her. She sighed softly at the sight of him—broad shoulders encased in sapphire blue silk, slim hips and long legs in snug black breeches, boots polished and gleaming. It was no wonder he turned so many heads. He truly was a sight to behold.
A hint of playfulness darted through her and she stepped up to poke him between his shoulder blades. “Shall we?”
He peered over one shoulder, then a slow smile spread across his face as he turned completely to caress her with a slow up-and-down gaze. “St. Phillippe agrees with you already, Gabby,” he replied, his voice on the husky side as he held out an arm. “Are you coming?”
