A Kiss in the Wind

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  It had all been a ruse. She’d led him on from the beginning. Killed his messenger. Used him as an escape. Mocked him by snatching his cameo. She must have thought herself clever. Oh, and what a good actress. The chit’s performance of a desperate girl searching for her dead brother had been believable, all right. And he played the buffoon.

  There were too many coincidences. The raid, the sudden appearance of Monte, the mystery ship…Thoughts reeled and he tried to add it all up. The murder of his men on the Gloria had him straining against a tether. A beast clawed from within him, ready to be unleashed on the person responsible.

  Blade would wager his soul, blackened and worthless as it was, that Monte had some connection to the death of his crew. That the lad had been spared from the chilling doom of the Gloria again seemed preposterous. Monte couldn’t be that lucky. No man could be that lucky.

  He moved to the window and watched the dark shape of Mona Island slip along the blue backdrop of the drowsy sky. The early rays of the sun would wake the day soon. By then, the Rissa would be upon her prey.

  Blade chuckled. His throaty laugh soured into a sneer. Reckoning. It would be his. Monte would be given no quarter. He sensed the little bastard was trouble from the start. But Marisol believed in him. Blade saw it in the way her smile touched her face at the sight of him, when Monte patted her hand resting in the crook of his arm. He had watched them as they took a stroll on deck. They laughed together and fell silent together. They were comfortable with one another.

  Perhaps they shared a rotten secret together, as well.

  If she had a hand in what happened to his men on board the Gloria, may God have mercy on her, for he’d have none.

  He clenched the smooth neck of his wine bottle harder and savored more of the wine.

  One thing didn’t make sense. The attacks on Carrion were fruitless, wasteful of ammunition at best. Marisol wouldn’t be a part of that deadly skirmish, would she? Family meant a good deal to her. It seemed uncharacteristic for her to turn on her kin.

  He recalled her lackluster readiness to stay on the Sablewing and how she spat when she spoke her father’s name. Perhaps she fostered retaliation for his abusive hand. Would that have been enough to destroy his ship and sentence his crew to death? Men whom she worked alongside?

  Aye, a good actress, indeed.

  Yet, it didn’t change the fact when her brother Luc met his end on the gallows, she had been near inconsolable. Her grief, that had been real.

  It all puzzled him.

  Blade growled. Too many unanswered questions. Too many happenstances.

  He brought the bottle back to his lips but stopped. The smell of the wine, sweet and rich, filled his head. Closing his eyes, he resisted another drink. He needed to be sober. A captain should not be roaring drunk before he attacks his enemy.

  Blade was no fool. There would be no element of surprise. The captain of the Sugar Lady knew he was coming. The sooner, the better. Under cover of darkness, the Rissa might be able to get close enough to prevent escape. With Sablewing sitting at the bottom of the bay, Blade wouldn’t underestimate Sugar Lady’s guns, either. The Rissa would need to position herself to her advantage. Aye, it was all about the timing.

  Shoving away from the window, he corked the wine and set it on the table. Save the rest for a victory toast. He shrugged into his bandolier, securing each of the six primed and loaded pistols in the brace. His sash tied at his waist proudly displayed his cutlass.

  The weight of his weapons satisfied him, reminding him of the thrill of combat. The power to tip the scales of life and death with the pull of a trigger or the swipe of a sword intoxicated him more than any liquor. Power, the sheer force of it bubbling in his gut and rising to the surface, had to be contained, suppressed until ready to be wielded. An enemy deserving his judgment needed only to know death would come quick. But this morn, he couldn’t be so sure. It had been a very long time since he’d felt this betrayed.

  Blade knotted his scarf around his head. He felt angry and worn. Distant.

  Ready to go topside, he gave his jacket a tug. A small lump in his pocket distracted him. Reaching in, he pulled out his shell cameo. He gazed upon its raised relief, its delicate features, and his demons reared up to haunt him. But instead of bludgeoning visions of the bloodied, mangled body of the young boy whose life he took, a raven-haired beauty appeared. She beckoned him, reaching for him. What did she clutch behind her back? What did she hide? A gully knife?

  Bloody hell. She’s even invaded my damnation.

  His cameo held his thickened mire of suffering. The source of his hell made no difference.

  With a disgusted grunt, he shoved the cameo back into his pocket and left his cabin.

  Daylight outside approached in commanding fashion. The deep indigo of the sky waned into lighter hues of blue. In minutes, the light would crown the horizon. Crisp breezes cleansed Blade’s muddied mind, rinsing away the bleary stupor of Marisol-tainted Madeira. Not that he was drunk. Not that it was of consequence. He drew in greedy breaths until his cunning tenacity returned sharper than before.

  The order to clear for quarters had been given and everything not used in battle had been removed from the deck. Sand crunched under his boots. Buckets of it had been thrown on the floor to keep the men from slipping during battle. His crew stood in clusters near their posts, their dogged faces pinched with grit and their movements strained, eager for bloodshed. Carrion’s lads, too, stood poised for action. He nodded in turn to each group, ready as he for a mighty good fight, and made his way to the quarterdeck.

  Henri stood atop his crate next to a young helmsman at the wheel, barking commands in his unique placid way. “Watch it now as ya bring her in.”

  The leads-man at the ship’s bow called out the water’s depth. “By the mark thirteen.”

  The small Frenchman moved his thick hands around, steering an invisible wheel. Blade patted Henri on the back.

  “How’re we doing?” Blade asked.

  “Damn pilot is greener than a milkmaid.”

  “By the deep ten,” the leads-man hollered.

  “Criminy, boy. You’re bringing us in shallow. Not too close. Not too close, I say!”

  The evidence of disappointment and frustration burrowed in the lad’s frown, but he kept his eyes forward and listened to the men calling out the areas of reefs that came into view.

  “We all have to start somewhere, Henri. Not everyone was born in a wheelhouse.”

  The helmsman cast him a glance and Blade winked.

  “Well, they oughta,” Henri said. “Careful! Yer too close, I tell ya! These reefs will rip Rissa’s belly open, ya knothead.”

  The vessel cleared a neck of land and a large bay opened up ahead of the bow. Mona’s morning shadow blanketed the inlet. Birds took flight from the island’s interior in search of a fishy meal, squawking the dawn awake.

  On the other side, a lone ship crept toward the open sea. Her sails had not been fully unfurled. A twitch yanked upon Blade’s smile. They would be on the vessel soon and his excitement unchained from his glum cynicism.

  He nodded to the helmsman. “Let’s go get our silver, lad.”

  In two strides, Blade stood at the quarterdeck rail overlooking the ship’s waist and her crew. “We got her, boys!”

  The crew erupted in cheer, taking their places ready for the oncoming battle.

  “Whaddabout the lass, Capt’n?”

  Blade looked back over his shoulder at Henri. His beard had been combed, the red ribbons neatly tied. His shabby vest was gone, replaced by a less tattered one. He stood tall on his crate, even as the young helmsman at his side dwarfed him. It had been a ritual for Henri to present himself dapper in the face of combat. “Gotta be well-groomed if’n today’s the day I meet me maker,” he would say.

  Henri’s usual tetchy disposition held a look of concern.

  “The lass? A regrettable casualty.” Blade turned away, avoiding that judgmental scowl his short mate gave him ea
ch time Henri disagreed. Better to skirt that argument altogether.

  Henri grunted.

  Blade closed his eyes and willed himself not to respond. Responding would only have him defending himself. But when Henri grunted again, jeering Blade’s words, he lost the fight.

  “Do you wish to say something, Henri?”

  “Never pegged ya for a blind man.”

  Glancing at the helmsman who wisely kept his focus ahead, Blade tipped his head to the side, motioning for Henri to follow him out of earshot.

  “And what are you implying?”

  “Just that I ’member a time when ya could see things as they are.”

  “I don’t have time for your riddles.”

  “Ain’t givin’ ya riddles, Blade,” Henri said. “I’ve known ya fer most of yer life. Always able to put things in their proper place. Never failin’ no one. ’Specially yer friends. Now this lass comes along an yer as blind and foolhardy as a live goose in the galley.”

  “She betrayed me…us.” Blade made a monumental effort to keep his voice down.

  “Did she, now?”

  “Aye.” He took on a defensive posture and crossed his arms. Damn.

  “Can ya be certain? I know how ya really feel ’bout her, can see it in yer eyes when ya look at her. Ya fallen fer the girl right hard. An’ she gone an’ done the same. Are ya blisterin’ the two of ya without knowin’ fer sure what be goin’ on? Have ya found the truth?”

  “Don’t question me, old man. Friends we may be, but I’m not above retiring your meddling arse at the next port. Marisol is a lying, thieving bitch. She’s on that ship with her turncoat brother and our pay. I’d say that’s truth enough.”

  “Stubborn fool.”

  “Likewise.”

  Blade left Henri to take up an authoritative stance next to the wheel. He stewed over Henri’s claims that he was in love. Sure he was. He loved all women. Didn’t he? Marisol was just another flower to be plucked. It was too bad she crossed him.

  “Capt’n.” Willie called him from below, drawing Blade from his thoughts.

  “We’re almost upon her. Your orders, sir?”

  The Rissa gained within two boat lengths from the Sugar Lady. The lack of frenzied activity on the other vessel did not surprise him. While most crews would be scampering to get into defensive positions, these men had expected him. Perhaps they looked forward to a consummate match, a battle easily won.

  Splendid.

  “Fire a warning shot over her bow. Careful not to hit her. We don’t want to sink her with our silver.”

  Willie gave the order to his master gunner. Four fellows prepared, loaded and rammed a gun for firing. Ready to light the slow match, they waited for a favorable shot.

  Blade turned to Henri and the helmsman. “After the warning, bring her astern. We want to remain at a safe angle from behind to avoid the guns, and then swing us around. He won’t have his gun ports open on the other side. We’ll position ourselves to disable her rudder should he try something foolish.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  The time had come. Soon he would get what was his, the silver and revenge. “It’s time to pay the hangman.”

  * * *

  Marisol stood alone on the deck of the Sugar Lady. Or was that the Huntress? Not one of the crewmen spoke to her as she sought out answers. Most wouldn’t even cast a passing glance at her. Exhausted, she found a looped stack of rope to sit upon. It had been a long day and a longer night. Her tired body protested each movement, aching for a spot of rest. She had just closed her eyes when the gentle jerk of the ship knocked Marisol off her perch.

  She caught sight of Monte and raced to him. She would get her answers, damn it.

  “Monte. Tell me what’s going on. I demand to know.”

  But he didn’t stop. He descended down the ladder. “Not now, Marisol.”

  “Now, Monte. You’ve avoided me long enough. If you are the captain of this ship, why the secret? Why were you picked up in the middle of the ocean while the Sugar Lady sat docked in Puerto Plata? Why did you agree to sail the Gloria? What is going on?”

  He stared at her with cold dead eyes, eyes she didn’t recognize. Where had her little brother gone?

  Someone above called out. “Ship ho!”

  Together, she and Monte looked in the direction the man pointed.

  A majestic ship curled around the rocky outcrop of land. The rousing deep gold of first light traced the fine vessel in a brass haze. A true testament to her glory.

  “Blade.” Marisol whispered his name under her breath. Her heart lurched and quite unexpectedly she was scared. Extreme foreboding iced her muscles. She froze to the planks, unable to move. Yet her heart raced so fast, it throbbed in her chest, beating so she felt as if she might empty her stomach into the sea.

  She—they—were in big trouble.

  “Fast bugger,” said Monte.

  Oh God, this is bad. Bad, bad, bad. Blade has probably given the order of no quarter. How am I going to get out of this one?

  “Are you coming?” Monte stood several feet away, smiling.

  She hadn’t noticed he had moved away.

  “You’d be smart not to stand too close to the side, lest you become a popinjay to shoot.”

  He was right. At the speed with which Rissa crossed the mouth of the inlet, Blade would be in range momentarily. No way would she be what he aimed for.

  Moving away from the edge, she joined Monte. He seemed unaffected by the pirate ship heading their way, but the perils Blade would wreak ratcheted her nerves. She couldn’t bear putting Monte in any more danger at her expense.

  “It’s me he’s after, Monte. Put me in a longboat and I’m sure he’ll spare you and your ship.”

  His boisterous laughter mocked her and his face crinkled up in ridicule. “Sister, dear, pitiful sister. Do you really believe he’s coming just for you?”

  He circled around Marisol, shaking his head. “How quickly you forget that he’s been chasing the Sugar Lady all along hoping to cross the mystery ship, my Huntress, and find his silver. I’d say I pulled off a damn good hoax, eh? I led the great Captain Blade Tyburn to think there were two ships instead of just one.”

  The pieces still were not coming together. Marisol couldn’t quite make the connection. She struggled to understand why he would go to such lengths to fool everyone, including her. Why didn’t he just confide in her?

  Monte laughed again. “This masquerade turned out to be more than I could have hoped for. But you’re right, Marisol. Tyburn is after you.” His smile disappeared and his countenance turned serious. “By now, the honorable pirate knows his silver is in this ship’s cargo hold.”

  “What? You have the silver?”

  “And he thinks you are behind stealing it.”

  The blow of his statement pelted her like a swarm of yellow-jackets. Sink me! He is after me.

  A deafening boom shook the suddenly thick air. A cannonball plunked into the sea in front of the Huntress, and a spray of water rose high over the bow.

  She was as good as dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Have all hands prepare for attack, Grimshaw.”

  Assessing his enemy, Monte gave his orders to a burly fellow, wild-eyed and thick of beard. Ripe for warfare—and a good lathering with lye soap—he stepped in front of Marisol, expecting her to step out of his way. She arched her eyebrow, daring him to make her move. The brute growled low and brusquely jostled Marisol aside to bark out the command.

  That well-known flush of exhilaration perforated through her. She mustn’t smile. She would settle on the satisfaction of her nimble fingers. The coarse handle of Grimshaw’s gully knife warmed in her hand and she quickly slid it under her waistband at her back, fluffing her tunic out to conceal it. Armed again, she relaxed, but only a degree.

  “I’d ration you a pistol and ask you to join in the fun,” Monte said, returning his regard to her, “but I suppose you’d prefer to stay neutral. Wouldn’t want to fig
ht against the man who keeps you as his pet, would you?”

  “What’s wrong with you? Why does your tongue speak with such spite?” This side of Monte troubled her. He acted as he did as a young man when Marie, the girl he had been smitten on, took a liking to Luc. And then again when Alain passed him over and made Luc his first mate. Envy drove Monte’s nastiness. It hadn’t mattered that Luc turned down Marie’s advances and tried to get her interested in his little brother. Or that Luc, the eldest son of Alain and the most probable choice, suggested to their father that Monte deserved the position because Monte wanted it more and had worked very hard to be Alain’s right-hand man. Monte still spat out the hateful lines.

  He ignored Marisol’s questions. “Honestly, it’s a sad pity. You used to beg Alain to fight in close combat. Now’s your chance to go up against the oh-so formidable Blade Tyburn.”

  “Are you insane? You intend to engage Tyburn?”

  “Bless me, if it doesn’t tickle my fancy.” He cast a ghastly smirk.

  “That’s suicide.”

  “For most, I would agree. But I’m not most. I’m smarter.” He granted himself a self-satisfied nod.

  “You’ve not the experience of seasoned men, Monte. Tyburn has been doing this since you were in nurse strings.” She tossed a glance to the approaching Rissa. Damn! Blade drew close. Maybe she should jump overboard.

  “I’ve learned to listen to the brotherhood winds.” Monte moved to the gunwale, casually watching his enemy. “I’ve heard the fears from the coastal peoples willing to give whatever goods they could to stave off raiding parties, and I thought, why not me. Why shouldn’t I take what is my due?”

  “But we did that. On the Sablewing.”

  He spun around, eyes alight in acrimony. “And just where was the Sablewing, Marisol? Answer me that.”

  She turned away. “You know better than to ask me that.”

  “No matter,” he said. “There’s some advantage to being a pirate’s son. Since Matanzas, I worked up the ranks quickly. I gathered me a crew of cutthroats and hell hounds, handpicked from the cesspools of Port Royal. Made off with a merchantman and raided a few seaside towns in a space of months. Then I met Charles Windham. The fool had no idea who I was. It wasn’t long before I learned of the Gloria and of Tyburn’s escort.”