“I do not recall granting you forgiveness.”
His voice was somber, and Mary Kate gave him a quick, worried look, but the corners of his mouth were twitching and finally curved upward. He had fine lips, too.
“Shall we kiss and make up, then, Diego?” she asked. Before he could answer, she stepped closer and brushed her lips over his narrow jaw, the day’s stubble rasping them lightly. She started to dance away, but he grabbed her arm and held her close.
“I wonder if you know where to draw the line when you tease, María Catalina. Or are you making me a serious offer?”
He was warm, his hand was strong, and his body smelled of citrus and sea and sweat. She thought of the feel of him when he had held her against him and wondered again if he might still taste of oranges and wine from dinner. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! She was supposed to be in control, to merely keep him off his balance.
“You’re an honorable man, Captain,” she protested breathlessly. He let her go, and she backed away, both relieved and disappointed.
Diego felt the same peculiar mix. He had seen in her eyes the fear that she had pushed him too hard. For all that she was bolder than any maid he had ever met, she was an innocent. And while he found himself glad to know that, it meant that he would have to leave her as he had found her. She was right. He was an honorable man.
He forced a casual grin. “Off to bed with you, then. I trust you will behave yourself for the rest of the trip.”
Mary Kate nodded and walked sedately away, but a few steps later, she turned back. “I like it best when you smile,” she said softly.
“Then give me no cause to frown,” he replied with what he was quite certain was a fool’s grin.
*
Diego tossed and turned in bed that night. Sleep, dreams, visions, these were fickle things. How could he confront Magdalena when he could not catch the merest hint of her presence?
Actually, she sat in the captain’s chair, snugged up to the table in his room. When time ceased to appear linear, one was not trapped by trends or expectations, and she wore a pair of loose trousers that very nearly looked like a long skirt. She had seen them on a 1940’s Hollywood actress and had immediately adopted the style as her own. They were topped by a loose blouse with dolman sleeves.
“Isn’t that just the way of it, poor Diego? The harder you look for a thing, the more it eludes you, even when it’s under your very nose.”
“You should not toy with him so.”
The other Mary appeared abruptly in her customary robes, seated next to Diego on the bed. She lay her hand on his brow, and instantly his body relaxed and his sleep became deep and calm.
“I’m not toying with him,” Magdalene replied. “You have a mother’s wisdom, Mary, and her soothing touch, but I know a thing or two more than you about matchmaking. These two are perfect for each other.”
“Then you should let them figure that out for themselves. I saw what you did, by the way, that little luminous mist on the deck vision. And while Mary Kate is a lovely girl, you really should not be walking around with her face. It is deceitful.”
Magdalene rolled her eyes, but they quickly changed from blue to brown, her skin darkened, and the shape of her nose and lips shifted.
“I have practically set her before him and said, ‘Here you go, Diego, this is your soul mate.’ And you see what he’s done? Not only is he rejecting her, he is rejecting me, as well! Me! The one who has kept him and his crew out of danger and offered him comfort and assurance when he needed it most.”
“You are supposed to intercede on their behalf, Mary Magdalene. You are not supposed to interfere.”
“Fine. I’m not interfering right now, am I? I’m letting him toss and turn and sweat it out on his own. That is, he was until you came along and settled him down all nice and comfy. And you know that whole intercession thing is…”
“I know.” Mary rose and sat next to Magdalene on top of the table. She took the other woman’s hand, and where they joined an intense light engulfed their clasp. “You are too inclined to forget how very solitary and alone they are. Do you remember how flawed you once felt?” A look of deep sadness swept across Magdalene’s face. “Do you not remember how unworthy you once believed yourself, how very much you thought you needed someone to intercede?”
“I remember,” Magdalene replied. “I remember wanting a love of my own once, too. Is it so terrible to interfere every now and again?”
“You really should not.”
Magdalene broke the hold between them. “You had one. You and Joseph came to love one another so deeply. I don’t think you ever really appreciated how rare that was.”
“After all the prayers that are sent to me every day by unhappy women, you think I do not know that?”
“Not like I do.”
The Blessed Mother slid off of the table. “It has been nearly seventeen hundred years from where we sit now, and of course, time is irrelevant in the plane of our existence. I cannot believe that you have not moved beyond all of that.”
Magdalene stood, too, moving easily through the mahogany and leather chair. “I have. I know now that the love Jesus gave on earth was exactly the same as the love we all share now, and it’s pure, perfect, and infinite. Far and away better than the mixed-up, mangled-up mess people strive to understand in his world.” She nodded to the peacefully sleeping Diego. “But so few can grasp that while they exist in flesh. For them, the closest they come is that perfect connection to the right mate. My life was shorter than the span between God’s heartbeats—”
“God does not have a heartbeat.”
Magdalene frowned. “I was waxing poetic. The point is, my earthly life may have been relatively insignificant, but do I remember it. I remember the pain of loving your son more than anyone I had ever known, while he loved me exactly as much as he loved everyone he had ever known. I like Diego and Mary Kate. I don’t want them to be lonely.”
Mary shook her head. “They are never alone. Whether or not they are lonely, that is for them to work out. And how could Jesus have loved you more when he loves everyone infinitely?”
Magdalene sighed. “Once, I wanted a little more than infinity.”
“You should come with me. Jesus, Siddhartha, and Mohammed are having a forum, and you know how lively that always is.”
Magdalene rolled her eyes again. “If only Socrates weren’t always asking questions! Besides, I can be here and there nearly simultaneously. The forum is a mere quantum leap from this cabin.”
“You will follow it better if you are fully present.”
“What about Mary Kate?”
“She is wide awake in her cabin. She has given up trying to quantify lustful thoughts. It wreaks havoc with her record keeping.”
“Any prayers?”
“Not to me,” Mary explained. “A quick, direct one to God about living long enough to confess all the lies she has told and blasphemes she has uttered. And she is trying to devise a scheme that she will not end up catching herself in.”
“Smart girl, that one,” Magdalene said with a smile. “I do like her.”
Mary laughed softly. “I do, too. But you know the rules. Unless she prays directly to you, you cannot intrude upon her.”
Magdalene crossed her arms. “It’s not fair. You can appear to anyone you like. I think you’re rather more fond of being the queen on the Catholic chessboard than you’ll ever admit!”
Mother Mary smiled sublimely, and the two women vanished.
Chapter Six
It certainly wasn’t the ocean Mary Kate had grown up near that glided under Magdalena’s bow, but it was a beautiful sight. She sorely missed the rich, verdant hues of her home, but she had to admit that she was fast falling in love with the shades of turquoise and sapphire that surrounded the ship.
She hadn’t slept well, and she envied Diego the spring in his step that came only from one well rested and refreshed. He was engaged in an animated conversation with his first mate
at the helm and seemed oblivious to something that was becoming increasingly apparent to her. His men did not trust him.
Where he walked, they scuttled quickly out of his path. They talked behind his back and looked at him from the corners of narrowed eyes. She strained to hear what they were saying but couldn’t understand a word of their fast-flowing Spanish. The whole of it was a mystery to her, as she had yet to see any sign from him that he might be an overly harsh taskmaster. He had been patient, reasonable, and quite restrained around her, despite her best efforts to make him otherwise.
She thought again of the night before. She wished that he would have kissed her. He had been thinking of it. It had been a long time since anyone had really wanted her. The men who had come to call in England had wanted her dowry and the title and lands that would, one day, come through her, but they hadn’t wanted her. Of course, that was the case because she had wanted it to be. Back home, she had enjoyed the thrill of encouraging the local boys. There was little in the world more amusing than a clandestine meeting with a lad eagerly yearning for fulfillment, all the while knowing she alone would determine whether or not he would get it. Silly twits! They’d not see her white thighs until they’d first seen a church altar, but they were always so hopeful.
But Diego Montoya was not a silly boy. He was a full-grown man who instilled unholy fear in his crew, as evidenced by the way they crossed themselves after he’d passed them by. He was the one leaving her breathless with unfulfilled anticipation, and she couldn’t quite decide whether or not she liked it.
A very young sailor, scarcely more than a child, approached the two men at the helm, and she watched with acute interest as Diego shifted his attention. The first mate departed, and Diego leaned in to listen closely to the boy, his hand draped lightly on his shoulder. Then he smiled at him and tousled the lad’s dark head in a gesture that was clearly paternal, and the youth looked up at him with hero-worship in his eyes. Mary Kate turned her attention to watching a sailor mend a voluminous sheet of canvas and waited patiently for the young seaman to make his way toward the bow.
“Excuse me,” she called out to the lad, just as he bent to retrieve a mop and bucket.
“¿Sí?” he replied.
“Might you speak any English?”
“El Capitán, he teach me a little.”
“I’m Mary Kate.” She curtsied briefly.
“Yo soy—ah—I am Galeno Rodríguez.”
“Galeno. I like that name.”
The lad blushed.
“Your captain has been very kind to me.”
Galeno stared blankly.
“He is very nice. A good man.”
Finally she was rewarded with a broad smile. “¡Sí! He is very good. He is a good captain.”
“The others, they don’t seem to like him.”
“No like him?” He gave her a crestfallen look.
“No, I like him. The other men, they no like him?” She gestured to the sailor mending the sail and another about to ascend the rigging.
“El Capitán is very good. He is cosa llovida del cielo.”
“Cosa yovee—”
“Cosa llovida del cielo. I have no English.”
“But the men don’t like it?”
“They no understand. They are temeroso. Supersticioso.”
“Supersticioso. Superstitious?”
Galeno shrugged.
“They think he is bad luck?”
Galeno scratched his head. “No bad luck. Much good luck.”
“Good luck?”
“Con los piratas. Pirates.”
“He has good luck with pirates?”
Now Galeno positively beamed. “He kill many pirates!”
“The pirates who captured me? My pirates?”
“All pirates! He fight, he win. He run, they no catch. Always!”
“Mary Kate!” Diego called from the ship’s wheel.
She smiled at him and waved, then turned back to Galeno. “Thank you, Galeno. Maybe you can teach me some Spanish.”
“El Capitán teach you. He is very good.” He bowed awkwardly with his bucket and mop and went to tie the bucket to a long rope to fill it with seawater.
Mary Kate sauntered over to Diego, trying to make sense of the brief conversation. He had forgone his customary jacket in the warmth of the sun, and the wind molded his white linen shirt to his lean body. He was slim, but she could see now that his muscles were well defined. For her part, she had chosen a gown of deep rose muslin with a bodice that laced tightly over a scoop-neck shift.
“You ought to wear something more modest around the men,” he chastised as soon as she drew near.
“You ought to wear something more modest around a woman,” she countered. “‘Tis a fine, manly chest you have there.”
“You are an insolent wench, María Catalina.”
“Insolent? Wench? You’ve quite a command of your English, Captain. ‘Tis a láidir lass, I am. You said so yourself. I’ll dress as I please.”
“Láidir?”
“Gaeilge —the Irish. I learned English very young, for the Old English have lived among us in Ulster for centuries, but we’ve our own tongue, too.”
“A reminder to me that you are not English?”
“I just thought you might be interested.”
“And láidir means?”
“Strong.”
“Strong-willed,” he amended.
“Aye, and álainn.”
“No doubt.” Dios mío, he thought, she had the most amazingly blue eyes. “And that would be?”
“Beautiful.”
He laughed at how closely she had guessed the path of his thoughts. “And desvergonzada.”
“Probably.”
“Shameless.”
“Definitely.” She neatly arranged the lace that edged the neckline of her gown, drawing attention to her pale throat and delicate breastbone. “I’m thinking that while I’m here, I might learn a word or two of your language, as well. Desvergonzada. I’ll tuck that one away.”
“Is that what you and Galeno were speaking of, Spanish lessons?”
“Among other things. You’re teaching him English, he says.”
“Aye. It is useful to know in the Caribbean. Portuguese and French are convenient, too.”
“And do you speak those, as well?”
“Enough Portuguese to get by. A word or two of French.”
Mary Kate gave him a sideways look, her eyes twinkling. “Enough to order a pint and a willing wench?”
“You are the most impudent…”
“Impudent. That’s another grand word. Now I’ve one for you. Temeroso.”
“¿Temeroso? That is not a word I would attach to you.”
“What does it mean?”
“Fearful.” He looked away from her, his eyes scanning the crew. “Where did you hear it?”
“Hard to say.”
His gaze came back to her. “I was beginning to find your shocking honesty rather charming.”
With a begrudging grin, she replied, “Fair enough. I heard it from Galeno. Interesting that you’d find no need to teach a boy a word for fear.”
“He will never be admitting fear to an Englishman. It did not seem important.”
“What about cosa llovida del cielo?”
“You and Galeno had an interesting conversation. What was he talking about when he said it?”
“His captain.”
Diego smiled softly. “He thinks too highly of me.”
“So what does it mean? Are you a saint of some kind?”
“Almost, if you listen to Galeno. He told you that I was a godsend.”
“I see. Because you’ve such good luck with pirates?”
“¡Maldito sea! I ought to take a whip to that boy!”
Mary Kate went whiter than the ship’s sails. “You wouldn’t! The lad’s an innocent! He only meant to come to your defense when I mentioned that your men seem not to trust you!”
Diego gave her a horrifi
ed look. “It was a figure of speech. I would never raise a hand to Galeno! But you should have come to me if you had questions.”
“I wanted honest answers.”
“I have never lied to you.”
“Well, I suppose I’ve earned that. All right, I’ll ask you. Why do your men make the sign of the cross when e’re you pass by? And why do they avoid your path like you’ve the evil eye? Why wouldn’t they be happy to serve a captain who wins every fight and can never be caught when he runs?”
Diego absently scratched his chin as he contemplated his answer. “That is quite a conversation that you had with a boy whose English is, at best, elementary.”
“Well?”
“My crew has grown somewhat suspicious of our good fortune.”
“Superstitious, Galeno said.”
“They find it uncanny.”
“Is it?”
“Uncanny?”
“Uncanny, suspicious, supernatural?” She expected him to laugh in her face, but the look he gave her left her suddenly cold in the warm sunshine.
“I do not know.” A sad smile flickered across his face. “Ah, I see that some things can make you temeroso after all.”
Mary Kate gave herself a quick scolding. She’d be damned if anyone could call her temeroso! “‘Tis nonsense, all of it! So you’re uncommon lucky. In Ireland men would be tripping over themselves to serve a captain such as yourself!”
“We are not Irish.”
“More’s the pity.”
Diego pushed aside his concerns about his men and the source of his luck, good or bad. He studied the girl next to him. Desvergonzada. “You are a virgin, no?”
“Of course! What a thing to ask!” Too late, she realized that, given her backup plan, she might have done better to let him slander her.
“I can see why your grandfather wishes to marry you off quickly. The way you act around men, you will not be a virgin much longer.”
“Well, don’t you have the nerve!”
“Are all Irish girls like you?”
Mary Kate sighed. She wanted to be indignant, but he had good reasons behind what he said, and she couldn’t bring herself to tarnish all her countrywomen. “We’re bold, I suppose, and say what we think, but nay, most aren’t like Bridget and me. I told you last night, we’re the bane of our village.”
Paula Reed - [Caribbean] Page 7
