Paula Reed - [Caribbean]

by Nobodys Saint

  “What the hell’s the problem, Mary Kate?” he shouted at her.

  She gave an inward groan, but kept her voice even and gentle. She’d talked her da through these things before. “There’s no problem, Freddy. You’re a bit out of sorts is all. Let your mates take you home and sleep it off. It’ll all look better in the morning.”

  “B’damned if you’ll gimme the brush-off ‘gain! I’m an officer o’ the British Navy! A cap’n! You’d choose some little fisherman o’er me ‘cause he owns a boat?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I haven’t chosen anyone, but I’m considering him because he’s Irish. Ask your mates here what they’d think of you marrying an Irish girl.”

  “She has a point there, Freddy,” Stuart said. “You can’t advance your career with a common serving wench from an Irish pub. You need an Englishwoman to impress the other officers’ wives.”

  “I don’t care,” Freddy insisted.

  “Well, I do,” Mary Kate said.

  Freddy gave her an odd look. “You’d never have ‘nything to do with a man who wasn’t Irish?”

  She hesitated a moment and said, “I’ve said all I’m saying, Freddy.”

  She hardly expected the smile that spread over his face. “I thought not! But you’ll come ‘round. Here, lemme settle m’account.” He fumbled in his coat pocket, and Mary Kate saw a piece of paper slip out and fall to the floor next to him. Since he was tottering on his feet, she stooped to retrieve it, then froze at what she saw.

  María Catalina had been scrawled in bold and unmistakable script.

  “Tha’s nothing,” Fredrick said, trying to pull it away from her.

  “Nothing? Nothing?” She no longer cared that he was drunk and becoming belligerent. She’d give him belligerent! “‘Tis addressed to me!”

  “You? Really? Didn’t rec’nize the name…”

  “May the devil take your head and make a week’s work of your neck! When were you planning on giving this to me?”

  “Tha’s not your name…”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Never lie to a liar, Freddy Fielding! Now, where did you get this?”

  He leaned toward her, ale-soaked breath in her face. “Well, tha’s a story, really.”

  “We should take him home,” Stuart said, but Mary Kate glared at him, and he didn’t press the issue.

  “I’m dying to hear it,” she said.

  Freddy continued. He furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate on what he was saying. “There wassa Spaniard off the coast. Actually wanted an escort into Loch Foyle. S’most absurd thing I ever heard.”

  “Diego’s off the coast of Ireland?”

  Fredrick’s eyes hardened. “Diego, is it?”

  “And wanted to find me?” As she spoke, she ripped at the seal and devoured the brief contents of the letter. Freddy reached for the paper, but he was slow, and she snatched it out of reach.

  Estoy esperándo te en Carndonagh.

  Diego

  He was waiting in Carndonagh! Twenty miles away in a tiny village outside of Ulster and away from English control!

  “Four months we’ll be on board ship. Now how am I to take four months’ worth of clothes, and me with no horse nor cart?” she wondered aloud.

  “Like bloody hell!” Fredrick objected.

  She’d been mad enough to spit nails a moment earlier, but she could afford to be charitable. “Ulster’s brimming with English families, Freddy. Sober up and find yourself a nice girl from one of those.”

  “She’d be more than you could handle anyway, Freddy,” Stuart said, and he and another sailor began to haul their captain out of the pub.

  “She’s going off t’be with some Spaniard!”

  “No accounting for taste,” Stuart replied.

  Once Freddy and his men had gone, Mary Kate walked on air the rest of the night, washing dishes and scrubbing the floor, and hardly noticing the effort it took. When she was finished, she collected her wages and went upstairs to pack in the tiny room she’d rented above the pub.

  At the same time, in the captain’s cabin of an English naval vessel, Fredrick Fielding lay in his bunk, holding onto the mattress while the room spun. Somewhere off the coast of Northern Ireland was a Spanish merchant ship called Magdalena, and he was going to find it. Maybe he’d never had a chance with Mary Kate, but he bloody well wasn’t losing to her to a filthy Spaniard!

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Mary Kate’s very meager savings yielded enough for a donkey, a cart, a loaf of bread, and some cheese. There were even a few coins left over, which she used to post a letter to her family telling them where she had gone. She would so liked to have had them with her when she and Diego were married, but she wasn’t about to make another mistake where love was concerned. Mary Katherine O’Reilly was going to seize the moment, and the devil himself couldn’t have stopped her.

  She set out right after breakfast, so she would need to eat only one meal on the road. Even with no better transportation than her donkey and cart, she should be able to make it to Carndonaugh in time to find Diego and have dinner. And even if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be the first time she had gone hungry for that man! The fasting she had been obligated to do over Diego Montoya! And there’d be more to come, for there was no way on God’s green earth she was waiting four months until they could land in Havana and be married. It would be worth every century in Purgatory that came of it!

  The road was long and lonely, and the miles were interminable. She ate her bread from sheer boredom, long before mid-day, and stopped only as often and as long as nature demanded. To make matters worse, she had never been to Carndonagh before. When she came to a fork in the road, she chose wrongly, and discovered it led to a farm.

  Correcting the mistake brought her to the ancient city well after dark. Fortunately, she had thought to bring a lantern, just in case she might have need of it. There were still people about, dining in the common rooms of inns or having a pint in the taverns, but it was fairly quiet. Most other travelers had taken lodgings, and the shops were all closed.

  She looked out into the void that spoke softly the language of water, but if Magdalena was out there, she was one of many lights shimmering from lanterns on the decks of ships in the water. Diego would have given up and returned to Magdalena when the sun set, no doubt, but he’d come again in the morning. He had not written where she might find him, which made sense, given that neither of them had been here before. She would check at the church, since it seemed as likely a meeting place as any. For now, with a sigh of disappointment, Mary Kate trudged alongside her little donkey cart into the yard of a public stable. She called inside, but no one answered, so she bent to the task of unhitching the tired beast from his burden herself.

  “¿En qué puedo servirle, señorita?” a deep voice asked behind her, and Mary Kate jumped up so fast her donkey started and brayed indignantly.

  “Diego!” She hurled herself into his arms with such force that he staggered. Then his arms were around her, his mouth on hers, his tongue delving. She tasted wine and breathed verbena and her head swam even as her body ignited.

  The sound of another voice brought her around. “Ar mhaith leat seomra?”

  She pulled away from Diego to look at the man who had interrupted them. His face was split into a wide smile, and he pointed to an inn across the road.

  “Do you know how hard it is to find people here who speak English?” Diego asked.

  “Imagine that,” she said. She turned to the man and nodded, and they spoke a little more before he trotted away to an inn across the street. To Diego’s initial question, she said, “Aye, I could do with a bit of help.”

  Together they unhitched the cart, and Diego said, “So what did he say to you?”

  “He asked if we needed a room and said the inn across the street belongs to him.”

  “That is good. I have been having some trouble communicating with the people here. I thought this was close enough to the English residents
that he would know a bit of the language.”

  “Well, it can be a matter of pride, you know.”

  “Stubborn, prideful—these are common Irish traits?”

  “Common human traits. Y’ought to give yourself a good look in the mirror some time.”

  He lifted his chin. “I am not stubborn!”

  She gave him a sly grin. “At least you’re willing to bend where it matters most.”

  “And where is that?”

  “You’ve agreed to only one room.”

  He gave her puzzled frown, but his brown eyes twinkled in the light of the lantern. “And that is some kind of a compromise?”

  “The last I remember, Diego Montoya was far above deflowering any woman save his wife.”

  Diego grinned back. “That has not changed. Come, I will take care of the cart; you take care of your little friend.”

  Mary Kate led the donkey into a stall and called out, “If you think I’ll just lie there and take what you offer without giving a thing or two back, you’re sadly mistaken!”

  “I am counting on that.”

  She came back out of the stall. “You’ve lost me completely.”

  “I cannot lose you. I have only just found you again.”

  “You know what I mean!”

  “Come,” Diego said, holding his hand out for hers.

  “I’m starving,” Mary Kate said.

  “Your stomach will have to wait a little longer.” He led her past the inn to the main road through town.

  “Where are we going?”

  “They have a lovely church here, with a stone cross that I am told is a thousand years old.”

  “A very pretty idea, Diego, but we have no license.”

  From the deep pocket of his coat he produced a sheet of heavy vellum. Mary Kate snatched it from his fingers. “What’s this?”

  “A license.”

  “But how?”

  “The bishop in Cádiz wrote a document which permitted us to skip the banns. I procured the license today while I waited for you.”

  “But the document was from Cádiz.”

  “The Church is the Church.”

  She gave him a dubious look. “And the priest here could read Spanish?”

  “Not Spanish. Latin.”

  Mary Kate pulled him to a stop. “Really? And it worked? Are you sure?”

  “Unless a nod means something different in Gaeilge than it does in Spanish…”

  “We’re getting married? Right now?” She looked down at her plain, brown skirt, rumpled and travel-stained. Under its tattered hem she wore sturdy, scuffed boots. Heaven only knew what her hair looked like. She ran a hand over it, but it seemed that most of it was still in its pins.

  “You are beautiful.”

  “Nay, I’m not! There are much better gowns in my trunks.” She turned to go back, but Diego held fast to her hand and refused to budge.

  “Tú eres muy hermosa.”

  “I’m a fright.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her deeply. “Te quiero.”

  “I love you, too, but—”

  He kissed her again and moved to whisper Spanish words to her that she only half understood but which made her tingle and ache.

  Her voice was shaking when she said, “‘Twouldn’t take me long to change.”

  He simplified his words, so she understood every one of them. Breathing became a little harder.

  “Well, ‘tis not as if my family or anyone I know is here. I don’t suppose it makes such a difference.” She smiled at him and offered no resistance when he resumed his walk toward the church.

  Latin was Latin, so the dry Mass was familiar and comfortable to them both, and just over an hour later they kissed passionately and sealed their troth. When they parted, the priest shook his head grimly. He could see why the Spanish bishop had seen a need to speed things along. It was clear that four months at sea would have been too much temptation for this wanton pair!

  As they walked hand-in-hand back to the inn, Mary Kate’s heart pounded fit to keep time with an Irish jig, and her feet nearly started to perform the steps.

  Diego could feel nervous energy pour right through her palm into his. “Are you frightened?” he asked.

  “Heavens no! Just like to die I’m so eager for this!”

  He shook his head and laughed. “You are supposed to be a little shy, at least.”

  “You silly, wee man! I’ve lain naked with you while you kissed me right between the—”

  “Shh!” He clapped his hand over her mouth.

  Mary Kate laughed and pulled it away. “You said yourself, no one here speaks English. But if you’d like, I can say it in Gaeilge.”

  “Do you know what you are?” Diego asked.

  Mary Kate gave him a smile of pure, feminine pride. “Desvergonzada.”

  “Eres cosa llovida del cielo.”

  She pulled his head down to hers so she could kiss him. “A godsend? And here so many thought me the devil’s spawn.”

  “You are only a little wicked.”

  “Until tonight.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I have tamed you?”

  She ran her hands over the front of his coat and tugged playfully at the waist of his breeches. “Ha! Tonight I intend to be very, very wicked.”

  “¡Caramba!” he replied and walked faster.

  They stopped and spoke to the innkeeper long enough to ask that a tray of cold meat and wine be brought to their room, and May Kate added bath water for good measure. It had been a long journey, and she wasn’t about to lie with her husband on their first night with the sweat of the road still on her.

  The room they had rented was tiny. The bed took up the majority of it, but that hardly mattered. Tonight, the bed was by far the most important piece of furniture. There was also a small table with a lamp but no chairs. While Mary Kate brushed her hair and pinned it back up again, anticipating the water, Diego fetched clothes for the morning from her trunks in the stable. By the time he had returned, the bed was turned down, the food was sitting on the table, and the innkeeper and his wife were hauling in buckets of water and an old metal tub.

  Mary Kate marveled at how quickly the water had heated, and the woman explained that it had been intended for her own use, but she had seen the two head to the church earlier. Having a strong suspicion as to what they were doing there, she was happily sacrificing her hot water. She also handed Mary Kate a bar of fine milled soap scented with lavender.

  “Go raibh maith agat,” Mary Kate said with sincere gratitude, deeply touched by the woman’s thoughtfulness.

  When they were alone, Diego reached to unfasten Mary Kate’s gown, but she brushed his hands away. “‘Tis filthy. I’ll not have you touch me ‘til I’m clean.”

  Diego watched her fingers fly over her laces and felt a little bemused. He would have expected to spend his wedding night coaxing a shy maiden who hid under the covers and blushed, but he had to admit, it was not so terrible watching his new wife enthusiastically disrobe for him. He plucked a piece of mutton from the tray and fed it to her while she pushed her gown down over her hips, and he decided that he enjoyed that, as well. As she unfastened the ribbon on her shift, he held a cup of wine to her lips, and when a bit of it dripped over, he let it trickle down her throat before he licked it from her salty skin.

  “Mmmm,” she murmured. “If you keep that up, the innkeeper’s wife will have given up her hot water for nothing.”

  “Unthinkable,” Diego said. He slipped another bite of meat into her mouth and stood back to watch the shift slip down her body. While she finished undressing, he stripped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. In the light of the lamp her skin glowed gold but for the tight, dusky tips of her breasts and the dark patch at the juncture of her thighs, and his thoughts drifted toward tasting all these, as well.

  When she moved to pick up one of the buckets, Diego stopped her. He helped her into the metal tub, which was too small to sit in, so she had to stand. Then he
lifted the bucket and let the water sluice over her, watching in fascination as it ran in rivulets over and between her breasts, across her stomach, and downward over her legs. Then he dunked his hands in the remaining water, picked up the soap, and worked up a rich lather in his hands.

  Mary Kate closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of warm water as it awakened every nerve in her body. Diego, his hands warm and slippery, went to work on her back, kneading away the strain of travel. Lavender wasn’t her chosen scent, but tonight it made her feel relaxed and calm. Soapy hands traveled down her ribs and cupped her buttocks, then slid over them sensuously, and she sighed in pure delight. On they moved, down her legs, lightly between her thighs, over her calves and upward again. Diego stopped and rinsed his hands in the water that had pooled in the bottom of the tub so he could lift the bucket again and rinse away the suds covering her back. She hadn’t even realized her damp skin had chilled until the warm water trickled over it again.

  When he stepped in front of her she took his face between her wet hands and kissed him. She loved the taste of him, the way his tongue mated with hers and his mouth stole the breath from her. She could have kissed him until her skin was dry again, but he pulled away, fed her another bite, and began again on the front of her.

  This time she kept her eyes wide open and preened at the heat in his gaze while his hands ran lather over her full breasts. With a contented purr, she reached her hands over her head and lifted her rib cage. She smiled when he whispered, “Madre de Dios,” and slid his hands upward over her raised arms, pressing close enough that the tips of her breasts left soapy, wet spots on his linen shirt.

  He knelt before her, and she ran her hands through his dark hair while he soaped his hands again and caressed her stomach, hips, and thighs. Instinctively, she moved and parted her legs so his smooth fingers could wash her all the more intimately. The powerful sensation nearly made her knees buckle, and she moaned softly, steadying herself on his shoulders.

  Diego stroked her soft, swelling flesh and looked up at her. Her head was bent toward him, but now her eyes were closed and her lips softly parted, and he felt torn between the desire to kiss her and to keep pleasuring her. But if he left the soap to dry on her skin, the pleasure would turn to irritation, so he stopped and rinsed her again, despite the very pretty pout she gave him.