When her feet found the deck of the Spanish ship, she pressed herself closer to its captain, reluctant to leave his embrace. She could feel his heart beating hard against her cheek, hear its distinct thumping. Finally, she peered out around them. It hardly seemed possible, but the scene on the Spanish ship was worse than that on the pirate vessel. The crew was busy tossing pirate bodies overboard and respectfully tending to their own few dead. An older, well-dressed man was stitching a deep gash on one man’s arm, and Mary Kate assumed this must be the ship’s doctor. Judging from the number of injured men on board, it would be a while ere he could see to her wounds.
The Spanish captain’s arm tightened around her. “Look away,” he whispered, and though it felt cowardly, she obeyed. He was whipcord lean and firm, and she suddenly wished that he would stop and kiss her, long and hard. She almost laughed at the bizarre notion. There were stories of old, tales of Celtic warriors and of the lust that came in battle, first for blood, then for women. Was that what was happening to her? She had taken blood, and now she wanted this? Mary Kate wet her parched lips and looked up into his deep brown eyes. He looked back, and his gaze became darker still with answering heat. The passion of the fight seemed to be taking the same turn in her rescuer, and the thought sent her emotions into a heady tumble.
He led her down a ladder, below the main deck, and into a fairly spacious room. Light poured in through a window, illuminating a neatly made bed and a table filled with charts.
“This is my cabin,” he said cordially. It was as though he had willed away every trace of whatever she had seen in his face on deck. “As soon as I can, I will see to it that my first mate’s cabin is made ready for your use. For now, rest here.”
Mary Kate didn’t know if fear had at last begun to take hold, or if desire still had her in its grip. She knew only that she didn’t want this man to leave her. Not yet. “I—I think I may have some things on board the other ship. If you could look ere you sink it, I would be in your debt.” She added a silent prayer that her ledger was still safely tucked inside one of them.
The captain nodded. “We will try to find them.”
“My thanks. And Captain—?”
“Montoya. I am Capitán Diego Montoya Fernández de Madrid y Delgado Cortés, and I am at your service.”
She curtsied. “Mary Katherine O’Reilly. Captain Montoya, ‘tis not the same thing.”
He looked at her quizzically. “What?”
“Irish and English. They’re not the same.”
He smiled apologetically, and Mary Kate became acutely aware of her heart beating inside her chest. The expression tugged one corner of his mouth just a bit higher than the other, and his teeth were dazzling against his olive skin. “I meant no offense.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“I will send water so you can wash away your ordeal.”
“Again, my thanks.” She smiled back and heard the satisfying sound of his breath catching in his throat.
“Catholic, no? The Irish?” he asked.
“Not officially in Ulster, where I’m from.”
“Oh.” He seemed disappointed. With a sad shrug, he turned away.
Mary Kate laughed lightly. “Not officially. Nonetheless, d’you think that where you’re headed you can find me a priest that speaks English? I’ll be doing penance for a year over that pirate, I’m sure.”
Captain Montoya turned back with a grin, and Mary Kate thought again of that hard, lean body against hers. “It was self-defense, and the man was surely Protestant. Nothing a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers will not absolve you of. Trust me, yours is a sin I have confessed to many times.”
“I suppose you have duties,” she said.
He sighed. “Sí, but I will be back as soon as I can.”
As soon as he shut the door behind him, Mary Kate sank onto his bed, thoughts humming in her head like a swarm of bees. She had to regain control of her senses. He was a fine specimen of a man, that was sure. But it wasn’t as if she’d never been in the presence of a handsome fellow. She’d even been kissed by a few and kept her wits soundly about her. Still, if the Spanish captain was as drawn to her as she to him, he could be putty in her hands, for it was a well-known fact that women were much better than men at controlling their physical desires. Aye, opportunity was ripe here. She was as good as on her way home.
Chapter Four
The amount of gold taken from the pirates’ hold should have been a source of jubilation among the crew. Most of it would go to the Spanish government and then on to the Church, but they were always given a share to split among themselves. None of them would get rich, but the spoils would make their lives substantially more comfortable. And certainly, there was the glory. Instead of celebrating, the men were subdued, their faces grim, and they went out of their way to make sure their eyes never met those of their preternaturally successful captain.
Each crate and trunk was opened in front of Diego or Enrique before it was taken below, and the two men kept a running inventory with as little speech between them as possible. When the crewmen opened two trunks filled with women’s gowns, Diego ordered them taken to his cabin. The sight jolted his thoughts from his preoccupation with his men’s suspicions to the woman who had landed in his lap.
She had to have been sent to him by Magdalena. The resemblance was too much for mere coincidence, the draw to her too powerful. The feel of her body against his, the look in her eyes, that impossibly tempting mouth. But an Englishwoman? No, Irish. The point was she wasn’t Spanish. And she was nobody’s saint. She had been downright vulgar when she had yelled at him on board the other ship, and she fought like…
Well, she had been a sight to behold with a cutlass in her hands and her eyes on fire. Then, when he had brought her to the safety of his own ship, she had looked at him again with those sapphire eyes, and he had recognized the emotion that smoldered there. He had felt it himself looking down at her. No, this one was no saint, at all.
If Magdalena had promised him a mistress, Mary Katherine O’Reilly would have been all he could have asked, brazen and daring. He could appreciate such qualities in a woman, to be sure, but he had been promised a wife. A wife was sedate and demure and meekly submissive. In marriage, a virtuous woman yielded to her husband’s will and hopefully found pleasure in it, but she did not cling to him in front of a deck full of sailors and send him a look that scorched him straight through. A wife certainly did not pick up a sword and nearly sever a man’s head!
Although he would have been dead had Mary Katherine not done exactly that. What had Magdalena told him, that a desperate woman would resort to desperate measures?
How could he be so heartless? The poor woman had been forced into the direst of circumstances. She must have been terrified, driven to take up arms despite her fear. A woman could be at once virtuous and brave. Why, bravery was among the highest of virtues! And as for that heated gaze, it was entirely understandable that she would feel a strong attraction to her rescuer.
It was churlish of him to question Magdalena’s judgement over such a trivial matter as the country of Mary Katherine’s birth. Had Magdalena not said that her gifts were not always easy to accept? But she had also said that they were harder to refuse. Once this María Catalina had been given time to calm down, surely her more sweet-tempered and mild nature would begin to shine through.
He thought again of her lips and the heat in her eyes and acknowledged a crate opened before him without seeing its contents. Then again, maybe it would not be such a bad thing if she kept a bit of that fire.
*
Mary Kate scrubbed herself thoroughly with soap and a bucket of seawater before she rinsed with the even smaller bucket of fresh water provided. She used as little as possible on her body and had just enough left for her hair. By the saints, she had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be clean! She didn’t even care that the saltwater had stung her wrists with a vengeance.
Before her bath, she had chosen the trunk with
her summer gowns to remain in the cabin and asked one of the sailors to take the other to the hold. Once clean, she studied her clothes deliberately. She knew enough about the Spanish to know unmarried women dressed very modestly and were most carefully protected, so she selected a demure gown made of robins-egg blue cotton embroidered with flowers. Her throat and arms would be covered, but the bodice of the gown was expertly fitted. It revealed her charms while concealing her skin and was therefore the perfect choice.
She thought about pinning her hair up but decided she looked considerably younger and more helpless with it down. She untangled it with her fingers instead of her comb so it would curl softly around her face and over her shoulders.
Fortune seemed to be smiling on her at last! If she had to play the part of helpless maiden and distract this man with every charm she possessed, at least it would be a pleasant task. He was handsome as sin and chivalrous to a fault. Leading him along would be a delicious way to pass the time. Aye, she’d do whatever it took, be whatever she had to be, but the next ship she boarded would be bound for Ireland.
She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks for extra color and sat down on the bed, her hands folded serenely in her lap. Captain Montoya didn’t have a chance.
Diego paused outside his door, holding a tray with wine, oranges, cheese, and cold salt fish. The cook had been fighting, along with the rest of the crew, so he had been unable to prepare a proper meal. Still, Diego supposed his guest would be hungry enough to eat nearly anything at this point. He doubted the pirates had seen to her comfort. Summoning his most charming smile, he tapped the toe of his boot lightly against the portal.
“Who is it?”
“It is I, Diego.”
Mary Katherine opened the door and smiled at him, and Diego tightened his grip on the tray. Her lips were dark and slightly swollen, almost as though she had been thoroughly kissed, and her cheeks were flushed. Her gown was perfectly proper, and yet it somehow made him all the more aware of her generous curves.
“You brought food, I see,” she prompted, her gaze briefly sweeping the tray before returning to his face.
Diego stood up a little straighter before he carried the meal to the table. She moved the chart, and he set the tray down. He felt as off balance as he had when Magdalena had appeared in the mist on board his ship. While it was only natural, what he felt for this woman, somehow it seemed he ought to be more reverent toward a gift from a saint. For good measure, he returned to the cabin door and propped it open with the sea chest at the foot of his bunk.
“There are no women aboard my ship,” he explained, “and therefore no one to provide you with a chaperone.”
The gesture suited Mary Kate perfectly. With the door open she would be free to use every female artifice at her disposal while ultimately remaining safe. Pirates were an uncertain lot, but honest men upon the sea treated honest women with respect. Even between hostile countries, women were protected by universal common decency.
“You’ve saved my life, Captain. I’m thinking I can trust you with my honor, as well.”
“I assure you, Miss O’Reilly, you are safe on board my ship, and once we reach Cartagena, you will be treated well until your ransom can be arranged.”
He pulled the captain’s chair away from the table. Once she had been seated, he took a chair that had been set against the wall and pulled it across from her. The talk of ransom didn’t worry her. It was standard protocol when two opposing countries ended up with each other’s innocents in their custody.
With fluid, graceful efficiency, Diego poured them each a goblet of wine. Then he took a seat and set to peeling an orange while she took a sip from her cup. The fruit’s pungent fragrance filled the air.
“I realize that you have been through a terrible ordeal, señorita,” he began as he worked, “but I hope that you can find the strength to answer a few questions.”
“Of course,” Mary Kate replied. Her eyes were drawn to his hands as he stripped the orange of its covering. They were elegant and well formed with long, nimble fingers.
“I do not wish to cause you any pain,” he assured her. “If the story becomes too much for you to bear, you have only to say so.”
Her eyes flew back up to his face, and she felt a quick jab of ire. To be sure, it was an unpleasant tale to tell, but she was no weak-kneed milksop! If she could live through it, she could speak of it!
“You are a strong woman,” her host observed.
The remark caught her off guard. “What?”
“You refuse to succumb to sorrow. You cling instead to anger at the injustice done to you and your loved ones. That is good. There will be time for sorrow later, no?”
Loved ones? She tried to affect a tinge of grief for those mysterious loved ones, whomever he might believe them to be. “I find that anger helps me to bear it. Maybe, once I am home…” She sighed and accepted the peeled orange half that he offered to her across the table.
They both popped a segment of the fruit into their mouths at the same time. The succulent pulp burst in sweet flavor, and it occurred to her that this was what his mouth would taste like just now if she were to kiss him. She had gone out of her way to avoid the thin-lipped kisses of her English suitors, but she didn’t think she’d mind terribly finding out whether a Spaniard kissed as well as an Irishman. Only if she had to kiss him, of course, in order to persuade him not to deliver her to Port Royal. Still, she couldn’t help but watch his wide, firm mouth as he chewed. She was going to have to add a new column in her ledger.
To Mary Kate’s credit, she mastered the little grin of triumph that threatened when he cleared his throat and looked away. Indeed, this man would be far easier to play than either of the last two captains.
“And where is your home?” he asked.
“Just outside Londonderry. I was for that city ere I found myself on this misadventure.”
Diego frowned. “Judging by the items stolen from your ship, it appeared that you were for the Caribbean. There were casks of wine, bolts of cloth, dishes, letters posted to Caribbean Islands. A ship bound for Londonderry would carry sugar, indigo, tobacco.”
Mary Kate bit her lip prettily and looked away with child-like dismay. “Well, more like I was bound for Londonderry just as soon as I could turn around and leave Jamaica.”
“Jamaica?”
“You’ll think me very foolish.”
Diego gave her a gentle smile. “I have been a fool once or twice in my life.”
Make that thrice, Mary Kate hoped silently as she sweetly returned the smile. “You see, I was jilted by a lad back home. Gave him all my heart, I did, but he threw me over for my best friend! My da always did say I was a rash one. Got it in my head that I couldn’t live in the same village with either of them, my love or my friend. I’ve heard there’s always a shortage of brides in the New World, so I set my sights there. Thought I’d marry me a wealthy man and laugh at those two struggling on their little farm.”
“And?”
“And I don’t suppose I need tell you that several weeks on board a ship gives a lass a lot of time to think. My da, he’s sick. My ma died when I was a babe, and it broke his heart. He’s not been a well man since. Then there’s my sister. She’s younger than me, and believe it or not, even more hotheaded. And here I’ve gone and left them to fend for themselves. Selfish, it was! I see that, now. I’d quite made my mind up to turn ‘round and go home when we were set upon by those ruffians.” The shudder she gave at the memory was real enough.
“Surely your family did not allow you to set out on your own.”
Mary Kate hesitated, affecting overwhelming emotion while her mind churned. If she told him that she had come alone, how would she explain the dowry that had been in Fortune’s hold? And yet, she had to get her hands on Sir Calder’s money to buy passage home!
“I brought my maid with me,” she finally replied with a heavy sigh. “She was killed in the battle.” She wasn’t about to make up some tale of rape and tortur
e. Here she was taking all of these lies upon her soul on the open sea where the whim of God could sink their ship and there wasn’t a priest for confession in sight. Please, God, she prayed, let me live until my next confession.
“But your father, ill as he might be, surely he did not send a mere girl and a maid to seek a husband in a land of strangers. You must know someone in Jamaica who will be worried for you.”
The last thing she needed was to have this man contact her fiancé, but it seemed unlikely that he would believe her if she said she had come traipsing across the globe without family or connections. She gave her plate a gloomy look. She was about to become too distraught to talk, and she supposed that she should be too upset to eat, as well.
“Oh Captain,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I regret that I must bring up such pain, señorita. You have held up so well through all of this. We will pause for a while. You must eat and regain your strength.”
“I couldn’t.”
“A bit of cheese, at least, and some wine to fortify you.”
“Perhaps a bit of cheese…” It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to take a tentative bite, rather than rip into the repast before her.
Diego contemplated the woman across the table. She was, indeed, everything he could have ever asked for. She was beautiful and sweet. Impetuous, perhaps, to have done what she had, but apparently too innocent to realize the ramifications of it. He should have been profoundly grateful. Magdalena had come through for him once again, charming his life. And yet, something about Mary Katherine O’Reilly bothered him. For one thing, he had a hard time believing that a woman who had killed a pirate and cursed at him in the heat of battle would run from something like an unfaithful suitor. And maybe it was wrong to question Magdalena’s generosity, but Mary Kate’s grief and remorse had an edge of affectation. It did not quite ring true.
Paula Reed - [Caribbean] Page 5
