He brushed aside his dream of Magdalena. That Mary Kate had echoed her words was a coincidence. He latched on to her latest protest. “So that is it. You think to use me to despoil you so your betrothed will reject you.”
Mary Kate shrugged. “Most men would prefer to think it was their own prowess that tempted a woman to fall. Think what you will. I’ve kissed a lad or two, or maybe twice as many more. But I’ve never felt that, what I felt just now. I couldn’t have pretended that if I’d tried. You want honesty, Diego? There it is.”
“Go to bed, Mary Kate.”
“Here?” she asked hopefully.
He would have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her if he were not damned certain that he would only end up kissing her again. Instead, he opened his door and gestured across the hall.
She stooped to retrieve her bundle of clothes, then stopped and hiked up her skirt.
“¡Madre de Dios!” Diego muttered, sticking his head in the passageway and then turning back to her. “You truly are completely desvergonzada!”
Laughing, Mary Kate unfastened the brooch from her petticoat. “This is yours. Well, ‘tisn’t yours, but ‘tis not mine, either.”
Diego’s face darkened. “You stole that from the hold!”
She tossed it carelessly onto his bed. “Give me back my dowry ere you accuse me of thievery.”
“I did not steal your dowry!”
“The hell you didn’t!”
“I have already explained. It was part of the spoils of the hostilities between our countries.”
Mary Kate gave an indignant gasp. “And what hostilities are there between Ireland and Spain? ‘Tis sure I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It is English money.”
“It is my money!”
“Your English grandfather is sending it to your English fiancé.”
“There’s an Irishwoman in the middle there, somewhere.”
“Mary Kate—” he began, then stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. A stabbing pain was beginning to settle in right between his eyes.
“I could take your mind off that headache,” she offered in a husky voice.
Diego opened the door even wider. “You had better leave before I do something we will both regret.”
“Make love to me?”
“Murder you.”
With a little sigh, Mary Kate gave up. Once they were well away from Havana, he’d have naught to occupy his thoughts save her. She could wait a night or two. Nonetheless, as she sauntered past him, she stopped and ran her hand lightly down his chest. “I wasted the last of me rose water. Seeing as I gave you back that pretty trinket, might you find me another bottle of perfume while you’re wandering the docks tomorrow?”
He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but the sly smile that played upon her lips and the slanted look she gave him nearly shattered his resolve. “Good night.”
She leaned closer and laughed when he swore under his breath. “Good night, Diego. Sleep well.”
*
While Diego moaned softly in his sleep, a dark-haired woman bent over him and reached her hand toward his forehead.
“Mary Magdalene!” another woman’s voice shouted, but it didn’t disturb Diego’s slumber.
At the sound of her name, the woman straightened. “What?”
The other Mary emerged from the shadows. “He told you to stay out of his life.”
“They’re so close.”
“It has nothing to do with them and everything to do with you. You just cannot stand having him mad at you.”
“Are you accusing me of being motivated by my ego?”
“Yes, I am. You are not needed here.”
“How can you say that? She nearly ran away from him! They had a huge fight, and…”
“And are well on their way to making up,” Mother Mary interrupted. “Perhaps you should take a look at what he is dreaming about before you pop in and interfere.”
Magdalene turned her attention back to Diego, focusing all of her attention on him. A sly smile broke out across her face. “My goodness, Diego!” She turned back to Mary and said, “She’d do that with him, too, if he explained it to her.”
Mary shook her head. “I am not about to discuss the intimate dreams of a soul while it inhabits flesh. I just thought you should know that nature is taking her course here.”
“And Mary Kate?”
“Well, she does not have the same knowledge base as our friend here, so her dreams are less—well—creative, but hers are of the same bent.”
“Perhaps you should make sure she remembers them in the morning—so she can write them down in her little book.”
“Leave them be, Mary.”
Magdalene frowned. “He ordered me out of his life.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Well, it stings a little.”
“You have become far too involved. Back up, dear. You have lost sight of the big picture.”
“Maybe…” She cast a reluctant look at the sleeping man.
“They will be fine,” Mary assured her.
“I’m still warning him if he’s in danger,” Magdalene insisted.
“Fine, but let the rest go.”
Magdalene sighed, but she followed her friend back into the shadows and what lay beyond.
Chapter Nine
She was laughing at him!
Diego had rushed the remainder of his business and set sail from Havana in all haste, anxious to turn his beautiful, enticing, headstrong passenger over to the authorities in Cartagena. And now, while he was steering the ship and doing a damned fine job of pretending not to notice her, she was shooting him provocative looks from below and laughing at him! What? Did she think her effect on him was so strong that he was avoiding her because he could not trust himself to be near her? So, damn her for being right!
The dreams he was going to have to confess to! Even now, he didn’t dare think about them too much, for the effect was nearly painful.
Mary Kate chuckled again. Silly man! What could it possibly matter to him? Last night had offered proof that they could have a grand time together, and there’d be no one to force him into marriage. So he would have spoiled an Englishman’s prize. One would think that would only have made the idea more appealing.
But he respected her virtue, and while that was a source of supreme frustration, it was also touching. She didn’t think she’d ever met a man so honorable. He looked fine, too, standing by that great wheel, feet apart, chin tilted up, wind in his dark hair. The fact that there was much unrest among the crew did not seem to dent his sense of purpose and command. He never lashed out at them or belittled them for their superstitious fears, but neither would he settle for anything less than their full respect for his authority.
Aye, he was a good man, Diego Montoya Fernández de Madrid y Delgado Cortés. Anyone else would have left her in Havana. After all she’d put him through, he still wanted to help her as best he could.
Now, if only she could convince him the best way to help her was to help himself!
She left the ship’s rail and strolled to the stairs leading to the bridge, swinging her hips so her skirts gave a satisfying swish. By the time she reached the helm, his face had become slightly ruddy, and his entire body had gone rigid. She smirked a little.
“I am a busy man,” he informed her briskly. “If you do not have some business with me, I suggest you finish taking whatever air you will and go back below before the sun burns your skin.”
“Oh, I have business with you, that’s sure. Business we left unfinished last night.”
“Señorita O’Reilly…”
Diego. The voice was barely more than a whisper, but it echoed inside of his head, which had begun to swim.
He tried to suck in his breath, but he could not breathe. “No,” he moaned.
“Diego?” Mary Kate asked, her voice suddenly worried. His face had gone from pink to white in a matter of seconds.
Diego, listen
to me.
“No!”
“What is it?” There was an edge of panic in the question. But that voice, the one he knew was real, sounded far away, while the other was clear as a bell in his head.
“I told you to leave me alone!” he commanded.
“All right, all right, I will. Please, someone help him!” Mary Kate shouted, but the deck had gone silent, and the crew stood frozen as their commander swayed on his feet, his eyes screwed shut, his face deathly pale.
Diego, you must listen! There is a ship…
“No! No more ships!”
You must sail north! Due north! Do you hear me?
“I am not chasing another damned ship!”
“What are you talking about? There is no ship, Diego!”
There was only darkness. He could not see Magdalena or María Catalina, but they were both with him.
No, not to chase! You must run, Diego, run now!
“When we see it.”
That will be too late! The vessel is fast, her captain relentless. I know you doubt me, Diego, but the lives of your men depend upon this. Mary Katherine’s life depends upon it!
“No!”
Now!
“What’s wrong with him? Who is he talking to?” Mary Kate cried.
Galeno must have joined them, for Diego heard him reply in Spanish. “He speaks to someone none of us can see.”
“Satanás.” Enrique’s voice, now. It was like listening to all of them through the wall of a room next door.
“No!” Galeno protested.
“Galeno, what’s wrong with him?”
“¡El buque!” the watch cried.
A ship—portside.
North, Diego! Due north. Or will you let them all die?
He wrenched his eyes open. Temerosa, he thought to himself when he looked into Mary Kate’s eyes. Then he looked away and shouted orders that galvanized his men and sent them flying up ropes, across the deck, and through the hatches. The little ship pointed her bow due north, and the wind with her, she lunged across the waves.
Mary Kate turned to Galeno. “What’s going on?”
“El Capitán, he know things.”
She turned back to Diego. “What do you know?”
“Go below, Mary Kate.”
“What happened to you just now?”
“Galeno, take her away.”
The boy swallowed hard and reached out, obviously hesitant to touch her.
“Don’t make me fight him, Diego.”
“Do not make this any more difficult than it already is.”
“Are we in danger? How do you know?”
“It is—complicated. I have my hands full here, María Catalina.”
She looked around her. The men were afraid, deeply afraid, and from the path of their gazes, not just of pirates.
“God be with you,” she murmured to Diego, then nodded to Galeno. “I’ll go.”
“Please God,” Diego prayed aloud behind her, “please be with me.”
She, whoever she was, had not been lying. No matter what they did, the pirates advanced. They sailed a Cromster, with three masts and armed to the teeth. She was the stuff of which pirates’ dreams were made and from which merchant sailors’ nightmares were spun. Magdalena kept all drawing, her sails taut, using the wind to her full advantage, but the Cromster had the same advantage. She did not gain quickly, but she gained steadily.
Diego pulled his own glass from his pocket and studied the deck of the other ship. Easily seventy men, possibly ninety, depending upon how many were below deck. If he had had more warning, he could have ordered his men below deck. The odds would be no less than two to one, but surprise would have been on their side. As it was, it would be very risky to allow himself to be boarded.
“More ships!” his watch called, spyglass focused forward. “Five of them, directly ahead!”
Magdalena had told him to travel due north. Had she led them into ambush? For a moment, Diego felt paralyzed.
“Very large! They must be galleons, Captain!”
He looked through his glass and almost laughed as relief bubbled through him. Galleons! Magdalena had sent them into the protective embrace of a Spanish flota!
“They are! Galleons! They are flying our colors!”
A cheer went up from the deck.
“The Cromster is turning back!” the watch shouted.
Another roar of approval.
Diego’s eyes scanned the deck, drinking in the sight of his elated men’s faces. Not only had he won the day, it seemed, but the confidence of his men, as well. He turned to Enrique, about to command him to take the helm, but stopped short at the cold look in the other man’s eyes.
“Is there a problem?” Diego asked brusquely.
“No, Captain,” his first mate replied, but his voice was tight.
“Then come with me,” he said, then called to another man to steer. To the helmsman he said, “Take us to our countrymen. Perhaps we can visit with them a while.”
With Enrique in tow, he gathered his men around him, and a hush fell across the gathering. “Let us pray,” Diego said. Hats were doffed, heads bowed, and en masse, they sank to their knees. “Heavenly Father…” he began, but all the while he offered up words of thanks to their maker, he saw muscles flexing in Enrique’s jaw. He finished with the expected, “We offer You our thanks in the name of—” the crew joined in with reverent voices, simultaneously crossing themselves—“the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Enrique lifted his head and stared at Diego a moment. “Are you well, Captain?”
“Yes. Should I not be?”
“You seemed—troubled, earlier.”
“Certainly, I am fine now.” He kept his voice stern, his gaze steady.
“Yes, Captain.”
The crew had gone back to celebrating, but those closest to the captain and first mate exchanged worried glances. The first mate was right. Were they all forgetting the captain’s strange behavior? And how had he known where to find the Spanish fleet? What manner of man did they sail under, and what price was he paying for such knowledge?
*
Mary Kate paced her cabin floor. If she hadn’t been so worried about Diego, she would have stayed above. As it was, he definitely had his hands full. She had never seen anything like what had happened to him on deck. One minute he had been fine, filled with lusty thoughts, she would have bet her last sixpence. And then he had started to talk, still in English, perhaps because he had just been speaking to her. He had said something about a boat, and then the man in the crow’s nest had called out and pandemonium had broken loose. Well, “pandemonium” was a strong word. Diego had started to shout, and the men seemed to be following orders.
But what had happened in those few seconds before? First he said he’d told her to leave him alone, which was true enough, but he couldn’t have been talking to her when he said he would not chase another damned ship. For one thing, what did she know of ships? For another, he hadn’t even sworn at her the night before, when she had raised such a ruckus and then tried to seduce him.
She answered an insistent knock at the door and admitted Galeno.
“El Capitán, he say we are safe. He find a flota.”
“A flota? Of Spanish ships?”
The boy nodded happily. “I tell you, el Capitán is cosa llovida del cielo!”
“A godsend? Sent from God?”
“¡Sí! From God.”
“Galeno, what is Satanás?”
Galeno’s face darkened. “¡El Señor Enrique Sánchez es supersticioso!”
“What does it mean?”
“He is temeroso! ¡Desleal!”
She took him by the shoulders. “What is it?”
But Galeno shook his head. “It is false. I tell you what I think. I think God talks to el Capitán!”
Mary Kate shook her head. The boy was hopelessly blinded by his devotion to Diego. God talking to Diego!
But someone had been talking to him, and
he had been talking back.
“Thank you, Galeno.”
“He say you eat with the flota capitánes tonight.” Galeno was smiling again.
“I will?”
“Sí. Galleon capitánes have the best food! Calamares en su tinta, jamón serrano, flan,” he whispered the name of the last dish reverently. “¡Está delicioso!”
“So ‘tis a formal affair, is it?” she asked.
“¿Qué?”
Yet another of a thousand important things she couldn’t say in Spanish. She went to her trunk and pulled out her best summer silk gown, holding it up for Galeno, who gave another enthusiastic nod.
She chased him out and surveyed the skirt of the dress. It was wrinkled beyond any remedy she could think of on the high seas, but it would have to do. She would rather be rumpled in the appropriate attire than be shamed in something plainer. It galled her to admit it, but the thought of dining with a group of Spanish naval captains was bloody intimidating. Still, Sir Calder had hired a tutor for her in comportment, certain her barbarous upbringing would not have prepared her to associate with his high-and-mighty friends and potential grandsons by marriage. She’d never used any of the fine manners she’d learned, but she’d learned them!
She fought and struggled with the frothy layers of petticoats and the tight bodice and voluminous skirts of the gown, and it was the devil trying to arrange her hair with only a small disk of hammered silver in which to see herself. But the battle’s outcome was reflected clearly in Diego’s eyes when he came to fetch her.
It had never occurred to him to worry about how she would look. He knew she had a number of gowns that were suitable for dinner with his naval counterparts, and she was always lovely. At the same time, neither had it occurred to him that she could look like this. The gown was sapphire blue, exactly the same shade as her eyes. The bodice was of heavy damask, stiffened with stays that nipped her waist in. From there, a silk skirt embroidered with black vines billowed out over what must have been every petticoat she owned. Puffed sleeves fashioned of the same fabric covered her arms from shoulder to wrist. Above the tight bodice, creamy swells dipped beguilingly into a valley shadowed by black lace, and a small, gold cross hovered between them. He loved her hair loose down her back, but tonight it was pulled up into an intricate knot, and he realized just how long and graceful her neck was.
Paula Reed - [Caribbean] Page 10
