Blake had not only heard, he’d stopped dead in his tracks until Keoni paused alongside him. Then he asked the cook, “The name of the ship?”
“The Ballade.”
With a whoop of joy, Cara threw her arms around Keoni and started to kiss him on the cheek. But his head turned at the last second, and he took her kiss full on his mouth. Embarrassed, she pulled back, but he leaned forward, prolonging the unintentional intimacy before he chose to break it off. Her gaze flitted to Blake, who stared at her with narrowed eyes.
She stared right back at him, daring him to make more out of an innocent kiss of a friend. Besides, he obviously didn’t want anything to do with her anymore, so he couldn’t possibly care whom she kissed.
Oh, but his indifference hurt.
Was he upset because Keoni had just proved her right about Andrew? Of course! That had to be it. And now he was full of piss and vinegar because once again he had proof that her mysterious way of knowing things was not the behavior of a crazy person. She was as sane as he was. And he was going to have to accept it.
With her own information corroborated by a reliable friend, Cara had to convince Blake to take her back to Boston with him. There was no other option. She had to sail on the Valiant.
“Marry her, kaikaina.”
“Are you mad?” Blake nearly choked on a sip of rum.
They stood at the rail adjacent to the ship’s galley, staring out across the calm waters of the moonlit bay. It was after eight bells. The watch had been set. The rest of the crew had gone below into the forecastle for the evening. Bud was resting comfortably in the cabin, recuperating slowly but steadily. This was the time of evening when Blake could enjoy a bit of the spirits, of which he was in much need, especially after the mess he’d made of things with Cara. Three days had passed since the incident in the cave. In three more, the Valiant would set sail.
He still couldn’t get past the feeling that he’d been used. That she’d wanted him bound to her so she would be assured passage on his ship.
“You can’t leave her here alone. And she has no money to pay for fare on another ship. Even if she sails as your wife, the men may still do a good bit of grumbling about the bad luck of a woman on board. The owners of the Valiant may not be too pleased either. But at least she will not have traveled as an unpaid female guest of the captain, which could cost you dearly.”
“Then you marry her.”
After a long pause, he answered, “All right.”
“What?!”
“If she will have me, I will marry her. Tomorrow.”
“You are mad! What sort of spell has she cast upon you?’
“None.” He turned to leave, clearly angry, which was a rare sight.
“Wait, Keoni . . .” Blake couldn’t believe his friend would go through with this. “You can’t be serious, kaikuaʽana. She will never agree to live four or five months in your small cabin.”
“If it is the only way to reach Andrew, she will.”
“This marriage would be in name only,” stated Blake firmly, expecting his friend to agree.
“Have you seen the size of my berth?” The Kanaka cocked one eyebrow. “After five months together in my cabin, what do you think?’ ’
Blake was momentarily stunned by the insinuation, then angered by the image of his Kanaka brother lying with Cara in his arms. “I think you are both insane and deserve one another. Congratulations and best wishes for a long and fruitful marriage.”
He downed the last of the small amount of liquor, shoved the cup into the cook’s hand, and stormed off, bellowing for Jimmy to prepare his things so he could go ashore.
“Wait, kaikaina.”
Blake looked down at the hand on his shoulder, then glared at his friend. “Get the hell out of my way.”
“Where are you going to go at this hour?”
“Why, to celebrate, of course. I intend to go to the pulpería and toast your future with . . . her.” He jerked his head toward the aft cabin. “I might even find a young señorita to keep me company for the night.”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“We will see who is the bigger fool tomorrow.”
Blake woke up to a terrible pounding pain in his head. With his eyes still closed, he rubbed his temples to soothe the tremendous ache, but to no avail. The insides of his eyelids felt like gritty sand scratching at his eyes. Disoriented and in agony, he could not recall where he was or what he had done since leaving the Valiant. As his fuzzy mind cleared, he realized he was in the dark and narrow berth of his temporary quarters. How he came to be here was a mystery to him.
The sudden knock at his door sounded like a cannon fired next to his ear.
“Go away!” he growled, then groaned at the intense throbbing in his head caused by his own voice.
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“Jimmy? Augh . . .”
“Aye, sir. Are you all right?”
“Yes. No. Ah, hell. Just open the goddamn door.”
The boy obeyed, letting in the tiny amount of lantern light. “May I get you anything, sir?”
“Bring me something for my headache. No, wait. Send Keoni down with it. I want to speak with him.”
“He left with Mrs. Edwards, sir. About four hours ago.”
“What?” He sat up and immediately regretted it. Holding his head for a spell, he remained still, muttering at his feet. “Did he say where they were going?”
“To the mission, I believe, sir. To see the priest.”
“God-damn-son-of-a-bitch!” roared Blake, launching to his feet. “Get the gig ready. I’m going ashore.”
“Again, sir? You just—”
“That’s an order!”
Trembling in his boots, Jimmy responded, “Aye-aye, sir,” then dashed off.
Blake scratched the stubby growth of whiskers on his cheek, then looked down at his rumpled clothing. He looked more like a ruffian than a respectable captain of a merchantman. But he had no time to dawdle with cleanliness.
Four hours. My God, the deed could already be done. He stumbled up on deck, wincing at the bright sunlight.
Leaving Mr. Bellows in charge, he managed to take himself down into the boat, anxious to get to the mission and put a stop to the wedding. Battling the lingering effects of over-indulgence, Blake was a powder keg ready to explode. He kept a close watch on his temper, though, reminding himself that Jimmy should not be made to suffer for anger and resentment that needed to be directed at the proper parties.
At the Valiant’s hide house, he borrowed the roan stallion tethered outside the door and tore off at breakneck speed. The six-mile run cleared his head but did little to sweeten his sour disposition. Entering the gates of the mission, he raced his mount to the steps of the church, swung down from the saddle, and marched up to the doors, throwing them wide.
“Keoni! Cara!” He strode down the center aisle, glancing around the empty sanctuary.
“¡Silencio, por favor, señor!”
Blake turned to see the mayordomo standing in the back corner. “Where are they?” he demanded in Spanish.
“¿Quién?” Who?
Struggling with his poor translation, Blake managed to ask about the woman who had accompanied him earlier in the week and a tall Kanaka. Although his words seemed to have been understood, he received only the response of a shrug and shake of the head. To his relief, the two had not yet arrived or visited the priest. Then where were they?
Thanking the mayordomo, he stormed out of the church, stopping at the fountain to cup his hands under the flowing water. He would go to the village next, he decided, bringing the water to his lips. There was nowhere else they could have gone.
Sweat trickled down his back. His temples pounded. Bending at the waist, he dunked his entire head into the cool water, then lifted it out. Gripping the rim of the circular trough, he let the water sluice over his face while his thoughts went back to Cara and Keoni. The idea of the two of them sharing a marriage bed disturbed him more than he cared
to face right now. He was out to save his Kanaka brother from making a misguided mistake, not Cara. She was not the one he was trying to protect.
Oh, no? questioned a little voice inside him.
I want nothing to do with her.
You are wrong, Blake. Dead wrong.
She is a witch, a sorceress—
A mystic.
The word echoed through his mind. He didn’t quite understand it or deny it. Yet the idea of Cara being a mystic seemed oddly appropriate somehow in the jumble of confusion surrounding her.
Lifting his head, he ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back as he straightened and walked back to the exhausted roan at the wooden trough for the animals. He thought of all the times Cara had proved her mystical gift of insight. He remembered her descriptions of visitations by an angel named Gabriella. Even if she were indeed touched by the divine, he still did not know what to make of the strange images he’d seen in the cave.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of motion near the gate. He turned to see one horse and two riders coming into the square. His dark-skinned friend rode in the saddle, grinning broadly and waving. Cara peered around the man’s broad shoulders, her smile as broad as the Kanaka’s. What had they been up to all these hours alone? he wondered, then banished the thought, preferring not to know.
He remained rooted, waiting for them to approach. Their horse stopped in front of him. Keoni murmured something to Cara that Blake could not hear, then helped her slide down from the horse. He swung his leg over and landed lightly on his feet next to her.
Placing a protective arm around her shoulders, he faced Blake. “Are you here to witness the ceremony?”
“There will be no ceremony.” Blake kept an even tone, controlling the urge to let his fists fly and knock some sense into his foolish friend.
“You are my captain, not my keeper.”
“I am your brother.”
“Then you will not stand in our way.”
Blake looked at Cara. “Did you agree to this?”
She nodded, her dark eyes bringing back the memory of her sleepy gaze.
“Then marry him, if you must.” He watched her face register surprise. “But it will not gain you passage on my vessel. Keoni will stay here with you. I will find another cook.”
“You can’t mean that,” she said in disbelief, stepping toward him.
“I do.” Damning himself for feeling hurt by a betrayal he had unwittingly instigated, he couldn’t bear the thought of them together intimately. He had to stop this impulsive wedding.
“You bastard!” she seethed in a low, contemptuous tone, then slapped him. His head jerked to one side. But he showed no emotion, which appeared to infuriate her all the more. Keoni came forward, gently grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her back against him.
“I’m staying with her, kaikaina. I will collect my things in the morning.”
Masking his disappointment as well as despair, Blake stared at his Kanaka brother, the one man he would lay down his life for. Over the years they had talked about the day that would come when they might part company, leaving one to settle down with a family while the other continued to sail the seas. He had always expected a woman would come between them. He just never thought that woman would be someone he wanted as well. A mystical woman neither of them should have.
“Is this how you want it to be?” he asked Cara, noticing unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.
Her lower lip trembled. From anger, he suspected. He was a bastard. She was right. Again. Only this time, she didn’t need second sight because it was plain as day, even for him.
“Blake . . .” she pleaded.
His gut twisted, waiting for her to admit she had been using Keoni to get herself aboard the ship. Now that she no longer had her passage secured, would she confess her deceitful trap and release the Kanaka from his commitment to her?
“Is it him you want?” Or me?
“I—” She faltered, then glanced over her shoulder at the Kanaka. “I can’t do this to you, Keoni. I won’t be responsible for having you kicked off your ship.”
Then she turned back to Blake and moved closer. For a moment, he thought she might slap him again. But she raised her hand to his cheek where a reddened imprint was certain to be outlined on the skin. Tenderly, she cupped the side of his face. “I want you, Blake. God help me, but I need you—”
“I know. For passage to Boston.”
She slowly shook her head. “There’s more to it than that. You have to feel it, too. The night we spent together . . .” He glanced uncomfortably toward his friend, then grabbed her arm above the elbow and led her a short distance away. He kept his voice low. “You planned for that to happen—”
“Planned?” she echoed quietly, her expression filled with sadness. “How could you even think I would intentionally stage an attack by a rattlesnake that nearly cost your dog his life?”
“Very well, then—I say you used the unfortunate circumstances to your advantage, allowing me to claim your body so I would feel bound to you, unable to leave you. I heard your words as you were toying with my mind. If you think my lust for you will assure a place in my berth until we reach Boston, then you are no better than a vulgar whore who takes money for her services.”
Cara reeled back, stunned by his accusation. What she had considered an exquisite moment between them, he had diminished to a manipulative prostitution of her body. Damn him! She wished she could slap him again, but she’d already done it once. And it not only hadn’t done a bit of good, it horrified her to think she had stooped to physical violence, something she’d never done in her life.
“You sound as if your mind is made up.” She let out a long and defeated breath. “No matter what I say now, I’ll never be able to convince you that I had no ulterior motives the other morning. I wanted you to make love to me. That’s all. Nothing more. I didn’t think about the ramifications, which now, I realize, was my second mistake.”
“And your first?”
“I made the mistake of believing in you.” Her throat tightened. She rapidly blinked back the damn tears that seemed to be the only constant in her life lately. “I honestly believed you wanted to help. Not me, but Andrew. You know what that kid is going through right now, Blake!” She stared at him in challenge, her heart and throat aching with emotion.
“Keoni told me how much you missed your parents those first few years with his family. You kept wishing they would come looking for you. Now you’re putting Andrew through that same hell because you can’t put aside your feelings about me, about us! You are condemning that little ten-year-old to a life exactly like your own—lost and alone.”
Taking a much-needed breath, Cara swiped away the tears running down her cheek, her voice growing louder. She didn’t care if Keoni overheard. Let him hear!
“You don’t have to do this to him, Blake. He has parents who love him and want him back. And I am the only one who has made it this far, the only one who knows where he is. If you don’t take me on that ship, he hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting back to his father and mother.”
She stepped up to him, raising her finger to his face. “And one last thing—I am not a frigging whore. But if that’s what you want, and that’s what it takes to rescue Andrew, then you got it. No phony wedding required. I’ll work my way to Boston. In your bed. On my back.”
“That’s enough, Cara,” growled Blake.
“It better be enough,” she shot back, adding a different meaning to his warning. Her finger poked him in the chest to make her point. “Because all I’ve got for barter is my body.”
Leaving him slack-jawed over her crass proposition, she started to drop her hand and storm off, but his fingers caught her wrist.
Her heightened agitation shortened her breathing. She glanced down at his viselike grip, then up at his stony face. If he chose, he could snap her delicate bones in the blink of an eye. She knew he wouldn’t, but his steely-eyed gaze an
d flared nostrils told of his battle for self-control. Brutality was more than familiar to him and to most mariners of the early 1800s. Violence bred violence. For Blake, his horrid past could have easily turned him into a monster, but it hadn’t.
Their silent face-to-face standoff lasted through several of her rapid breaths. He released her. His gaze drifted downward to the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her shirt. She didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know he was mentally undressing her. Good. Maybe he would actually let his primal urges sway his thinking.
He finally spoke, his anger still evident. “No marriage?”
“No marriage. Just sex.”
Eyes narrowing, he shook his head. “No sex, either.”
Unable to hide her surprise, she asked with a sudden croak in her voice, “None?”
“None,” he repeated. “I have no intention of touching you ever again.”
Three days later, on the morning of April 1, Blake stood on the deck of the Valiant, only a few hours away from hauling anchor and setting sail for Boston. The air was calm. The sun warm. The bay as smooth as glass.
“Is she ready?” he asked Keoni, who was standing next to him.
“I doubt it.”
Blake’s head snapped around. “What are you saying, kaikuaʽana?”
“Women are never ready on time,” answered the Kanaka with a mischievous wink. “And especially on their wedding day. Keeps the groom on his toes.”
“This groom is not going to be kept waiting,” muttered Blake, stepping around his best man. If he had to throw her over his shoulder and haul her up the companionway, he would do so.
This impromptu ceremony had not been his idea in the first place. If not for the first mate’s message of grievance from the crew, Blake would have abided by his agreement with Cara. Instead, he was made to realize that a disgruntled, superstitious lot of seamen in the forecastle could make for a mutinous journey around the Horn. Rather than take such a risk, he was willing to stand before the captain of the Pilgrim, speak a few meaningless words, and be done with it. That is, if the bride deemed to honor them with her presence.
Then he saw her. A jolt went through him so strong that, had he not known better, he might have thought an anchor was pulling him down into the depths of the ocean.
Mystic Memories Page 20
