A Kiss in the Wind

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “Ey.” The drunkard teetered over to them. “Git yer hands offin’ ’er.” He reached down and grabbed Blade Tyburn by his shoulder. “She wit’ me.”

  Tyburn’s smile faded as he turned his head only a fraction, his stare cutting down to the man’s grasp. “You’d best remove your hand, friend.” He paused to leer up at the lout. “Before you lose it.” The deadly tone of his voice left little doubt of his seriousness.

  “You threatenin’ me, boy?”

  “Threats are wasted on your ilk.”

  “Mind yerself, Porter,” someone called out. “That’s Capt’n Tyburn of the Rissa yer rallyin’ ta.”

  The drunkard’s eyes rounded with clarity and he snatched his arm away. “M’ pardon, Capt’n Tyburn.” He averted his gaze to the floor in a submissive nod.

  The Rissa. The Rissa. She was certain she’d heard of the ship before. But she couldn’t remember where.

  The captain rose to his feet. “Be gone, then.” He turned back to Marisol, extending his hand to help her up.

  She gazed upon his strong hand and questioned if it was wise to touch him again. His allure distracted her from her intentions. She shrugged. No one had ever accused her of being wise. She let him pull her up. The space between them was far too scarce for her liking. Marisol felt small before him, standing both in the shadow of his brawny breadth and his very agreeable good looks. “Um, I give you my thanks.”

  “Capt’n Tyburn.”

  The captain turned back to Porter, frowning that the drunk still staggered behind him.

  Porter pointed at Marisol. “Reckon I’ll take ’er back, now.”

  Marisol planted her hands on her hips. “And I reckon you won’t.” She didn’t fancy herself as a man’s property, not even Alain’s. Nothing boiled her pot like a man staking claim where it didn’t belong.

  “I came ’ere ta get me a woman.” Porter’s brow furrowed. “Thadda be you.”

  She tilted her head. “Pity. You’re going to be disappointed, then.”

  Porter took a step forward. Captain Tyburn stopped him with a solid hand to his chest. “You’re a bold one in a clam. I believe I told you to be gone. Not only have you ignored me, you are harassing a lady. This, I don’t accept.”

  “She ain’t no lady.”

  Marisol gave a chuckle. Something else she had never been accused of.

  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.

  Chapter Two

  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?”