A Perfect Curse

by Shereen Vedam

“No, she was conversing with my late father.”

  “Your father’s spirit was restless?”

  Terrance gave him a look of surprise and approval. “You believe in ghosts? More than I did. You see, my father had been murdered, and he was haunting my home, or so my mother insisted. I saw her worries as simply a sign of grief, nothing more and set about searching for my father’s killer. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had entreated Belle to come help cleanse our country home.”

  His lordship chuckled softly. “When Belle arrived, I believed she had come to capture herself a peer for a husband, not rid my home of a malcontented spirit. Let me tell you, she was not pleased by my presumption.” He quickly sobered. “My stubbornness almost cost us our lives. When a villain set my house on fire, it was Belle’s ability to communicate with Earnest that saved us all.”

  Ah! Now he understood the strong bond between the earl and his dog, for his pet had helped to save Lady Terrance’s life. Mark played his hand while he wondered how to delicately phrase another, more personal, question. “If I may inquire, my lord, considering the discord between you two, how did you, um, capture your queen?”

  Terrance’s good humor returned. “I set a game to keep her close to me so I could distract her from her interest in ghost hunting.” His smile suggested his thoughts were far removed from their card playing. “Instead, she distracted me from my purpose and I almost lost the game, and my prize.” He took his turn before his gaze returned to Mark. “What is your strategy, Alvaro, for winning your fair queen?”

  Mark frowned. Every one of his plans had thus far failed.

  At his continued silence, Terrance said, “Or is she not to your taste, Alvaro?”

  Anger stirred and Mark shifted in his chair. “She is ideal in every respect.” He discarded a card from the wrong suit and groaned as Terrance spiritedly plucked it up.

  His opponent chuckled as if he had planned to distract Mark all along with his impertinent question. The earl declared himself the winner, and his smug smile added salt to Mark’s wounded ego. With ill grace, he wrote out his promissory note for his best mare while the earl scratched Earnest’s chin and cooed to the dog.

  Mark wished he had not brought up the subject of acquiring a queen at all. It was not as if he still had a chance with Nevara. She had shown what she thought of Mark and his unwanted advice by leaving London.

  Terrance straightened. “I find it interesting, Alvaro, that though you believe nothing but disaster will occur in Spain, you still willingly gave up your life to accompany your lady on this journey.”

  “Does that not show how much I care?”

  “Yet, my wife tells me you have not persuaded Miss Wood of your devotion.”

  “I am here, am I not, by her side?”

  “You are here playing cards with me,” Terrance said in a mild tone.

  Mark shot to his feet and paced about the tiny cabin, disliking this direct line of talk. He had a mind to go up to the top deck and let the wild wind clear away the cobwebs of confusion filling his mind. Yet, what kept him cabin-bound was the certainty that Terrance was right. How accurately the earl had read him.

  At every opportunity, Mark had turned away from Nevara. Even when he courted her, he convinced himself he did it to protect her, not because he wanted her. He was afraid of giving her his love. Why? The answer came swift and clear. Because life had taught him that if he loved, he would lose. If he allowed himself to love Nevara, and she died, how would he survive that? He had barely survived losing Miguel.

  “It is never an easy thing,” Terrance said in a soft voice, “discovering how truly vulnerable we are.”

  Mark returned to his seat and made a show of re-counting his points, though he could not recall a single one.

  “I have an idea.” Terrance shuffled the cards. “For this next game, let us raise the stakes. Since you have grievously protested the lack of proper meals during our voyage . . .”

  Mark frowned royally.

  “. . . if you win,” Lord Terrance chuckled, “I shall personally roast and delicately dress a leg of lamb for your dinner plate once we reach our destination. BUT, if I win, you must claim a kiss from your queen.”

  Mark’s mouth, which had begun to water at mention of a decent meal, now went dry.

  Terrance’s gaze turned steely. “If, however, you do not win your queen’s favor by the time we reach Cadiz, you must return to England and leave the fair lady to her fate.”

  Mark’s heart thumped in fear. He could not accept this diabolical bet. “Why?”

  His opponent’s gaze did not waver. “The queen we speak of is under my guard. I intend to protect her spirit as well as her person. If your heart is not in this game, best you leave the fray before you lay permanent claim to hers.”

  Mark sat in stunned silence, and then it dawned on him what Terrance truly asked. Was Mark brave enough to love Nevara? The answer was immaterial, for despite all his conscious protests, his heart had already chosen its fateful path.

  “Shall we cut to see who will deal?” Terrance asked. “Or did you leave your courage in New Wapping?”

  Mark clenched his jaw at his lordship’s goading. Then he came to another realization. Thanks to Nevara’s aunt’s interference, Mark had no choice in this matter. Nevara needed his protection and his love. Since the day he had raced to her rescue when she was sixteen, all she had ever needed was his love. How could he not have seen that? He took a breath and gestured to Terrance. “Cut the deck”

  Chapter Nine

  REOCCURRING DREAMS of kissing Nevara kept Mark awake all night. The lynx he had seen accompanying her in that first dream was becoming her regular companion. Since they were now all headed to Spain, he began to wonder if that wild cat was not so much a portent as something else. The next time he dreamed about it, he was tempted to ask a few more questions and see if he could get it to speak to him.

  The next day, he awoke bleary eyed but determined to prove to Terrance that he not only found Miss Nevara Wood eminently alluring—and was up to the challenge of winning another kiss from her—but that his lordship could wait until the cows came home before Mark agreed to return to England without her.

  As soon as he could, he asked Nevara to walk with him on deck. Now, with her by his side, Mark strolled along the crowded deck in search of a secluded corner to attempt the deed. At every turn, a crewmember or another passenger nodded greeting or stopped to chat. Then he spotted a deserted area at the front end of the vessel, behind the foresail, and determinedly guided Nevara there.

  She pointed to a score of birds flying south in a perfect V formation. Her excitement warmed his heart. He wanted to take her in his arms and promise to find her sights like this for the rest of her life. He squeezed her hand and she turned to him, her eyes widening with awareness. A flush of desire infused her cheeks with color. Mark wrapped his arms around her waist and gently tugged her closer.

  “Excellent morning,” Terrance said from behind him.

  Nevara’s gasp brushed his lips before she stepped away. He groaned in frustration.

  Teeth clenched, he swung around with feigned goodwill to greet his nemesis.

  Breathing deeply of the clean fresh sea air, the earl nodded cheerfully to them. “Are you enjoying the splendid scenery, Miss Wood?”

  A devious glint in his lordship’s eyes gave him away. He intended to make it impossible for Mark to win his bet.

  Beside her husband, Lady Terrance looked so rueful that Mark suspected she had either guessed or used her extra senses to glean Mark’s intentions. Avoiding her knowing gaze, he shot the earl a glare.

  Why had he allowed Terrance to goad him into this confounded bet? He doubted his opponent ever intended to lose that card game, for he probably did not know how to dress meat properly. Servants would have catered to his every whim from the moment he squ
irmed out of his mother’s loins.

  Mark should have insisted his lordship demonstrate his cooking ability before agreeing to the challenge. At least he would have had a good dinner to console him in his loss.

  In a bid to gain some privacy, he wished the Terrances good day and led Nevara to the vessel’s stern, at the back end, suggesting she could see the birds’ flight better from there.

  “Are you enjoying the journey?” he asked. “Have you recovered from the earlier ill effects from the vessel’s movement?”

  “Yes,” she said with a cheerful smile, “thanks to that potion you gave me and Lady Terrance. It has since been passed around to most women aboard and some men who had also succumbed to the vessel’s constant pitching. It has proven to be an amazing cure, Mark. I did not know you were so well versed in herbal medicine.”

  “My grandmother’s concoction. She gave me a large bottle of it before I left London. I am pleased it helped.”

  “I remember your grandmother’s talent for healing,” she said in a quiet voice. “You must send her my thanks. I meant to also thank her and your brother for caring for me when I was injured once, but I never did. It is too late for Miguel, but I hope you will pass on my gratitude to her.”

  “Nevara,” he said, “I know that you cared for my brother, but . . .”

  “As I do for you,” she finished.

  Mark gazed at her in amazement. Did that mean she loved him, too? Like a brother or something more? Before he could ask, the lookout sounded a call and a thump drew his gaze high to where a black bird had crashed into a sail. It flailed against the canvas and slid down to the deck below.

  The mate instructed the passengers to stay back, exclaiming in alarm about how unlucky it was to have a bird crash into the sails during a sea voyage. He urgently sent the steward to fetch the captain.

  Mark held onto Nevara, wanting to protect her from an unpleasant sight. The Terrances joined them to observe the ensuing drama from afar.

  The captain finally arrived on deck with his clothing in disarray and his sparse hair standing at odd ends, as if he had left his bunk in a hurry. He viewed the fallen bird with the utmost concern. “Hell’s Bells and Buckets of Blood,” he swore in a mournful voice. “Damme, if it ain’t a crow.”

  Alarm spiked up Mark’s spine. He had a dreadful suspicion about which crow had fallen from the sky.

  “This be a sure sign that high wind and bad storms will soon besiege us,” the captain said and then offered many more bitter oaths at this unlucky turn of events.

  Mark excused himself and pushed through the crowd. It was as he feared. The bird stumbling around on the wet deck was none other than Guapo, his grandmother’s one-eyed familiar.

  The captain ordered the bird to be left untouched. “If it dies, it would be a sure sign death’s to visit m’ship.”

  “No!” a woman nearby exclaimed in shock.

  Guapo, paying little attention to the captain, or Mark’s silent warning to stay still, flew directly at Mark, landing an inch short of his shoulder. Mark grabbed the bird before it floundered down his front.

  The crowd looked at him wide-eyed. Then a woman muttered to her husband in a loud whisper, “I have heard tell that witches keep crows as familiars.”

  Suspicious gazes turned toward Mark. The cook stepped forward and said as how he had been keeping an eye on the goings on of Mr. Alvaro. He had been suspicious of the gentleman, him being an Italian an’ all. He nodded sagely to the captain. “Italians are known witches, Cap’n.”

  Mark groaned inwardly. The cook was getting even for Mark’s criticism about the fare onboard, so his comments were not surprising. Yet, if he convinced this mob of his claims, Mark might be forced to walk the plank.

  “First—” Mark gave the cook a scathing look. “—I am not Italian. I am of Spanish descent. And second, the crow does not belong to me.”

  The captain pointed to Guapo, who had set to cooing in Mark’s ear. “That is not what it looks like, sir.”

  “Let us pass.” Lord Terrance and his wife walked over with Nevara at their side.

  “I wish I had never taken your paltry payment, sir,” the captain said vehemently to Mark. “Always complaining about the food and the cabin size. But with this crow, you bring bad luck onboard m’vessel.”

  Mark allowed the man to vent, his gaze on Nevara. Did she believe he was a witch, or in his case, a wizard? He prayed she would not ask him directly. If she did, he would have no choice but to lie. He was not at liberty to speak the truth without enacting the curse laid on his family, never mind the wrath of this crew.

  “Captain, calm yourself,” Lord Terrance said. “I thought you to be above superstitions, sir. We have experienced such a pleasant voyage thus far that I had intended to travel with none other than your steady hand at the helm. Now I wonder at the wisdom of showing you such favor.”

  “But milord,” the captain sputtered, “the bird is obviously attached to this man. Look how it dotes on him.”

  Belle stepped forward. “Dazed from its fall, it would be grateful to anyone.” She held out her hand.

  With his good eye, Guapo considered the countess’s offer. He hesitated and then hopped onto her hand.

  “There, you see, it even likes my wife.” Lord Terrance turned a stern glance toward the captain. “Or do you insinuate she, too, is a witch?”

  The captain paled under the earl’s glare, yet he did not appear ready to renounce his misgivings about Mark.

  “In fact,” his lordship continued, “I believe my family and I shall disembark at the next port.” He waved a careless hand at the captain. “You may return part of the funds we paid for our trip to my man in London. We shall continue our passage aboard a vessel with a more modern thinking captain. Be assured that I shall not recommend that any of my acquaintance travel aboard a ship ruled by superstition.”

  The threat hung in the air.

  The captain’s eyes bulged as the notion sank in that he was about to lose the earl’s money and possible future income.

  “Oh, no, my lord, you need not leave. I was but momentarily distracted.” He shooed the other passengers and his men away. “There is nothing to see here. It was merely a bird, half-blind at that, mistaking his distance and hitting our sails. Go on, now, everyone move along.”

  He turned to the earl with a pleading expression. “Pray, tell me, milord, that you do not wish to leave? I am so honored to have your eminent presence onboard.”

  Mark hid his humor, reflected clearly in Lady Terrance’s violet gaze, as the captain’s groveling continued. He gave her a silent, “thank you” and found Nevara observing him with a frown. Her questions, he could not answer.

  For now, he retrieved Guapo from the countess, saying he would set the bird free. The crow had done his duty. In the guise of cooing in Mark’s ear, Guapo had warned him that the captain was right. High winds and storms were indeed in their future, though not those of Mother Nature’s making. The evil that sought Nevara was reaching for the ship on which she traveled.

  Mark took Guapo to the railing and helped him fly off, releasing a silent spell to aid the crow on a speedy flight home. Then he bid Nevara good morning and retreated to his cabin. He needed to prepare a strong counter-measure to keep their vessel safe from harm as it sailed south along the Bay of Biscay. Thoughts of kissing her must wait a while.

  AFTER LUNCH, NEVARA returned to the main deck hoping to run into Mark. She was surprised at how quickly she had become used to seeing him every day. Unfortunately, he did not make an appearance on deck.

  Later that evening, she again strolled the deck, this time in the captain’s company as he begged her to speak to Lord Terrance about what a sturdy and steady vessel the Magdalena was. According to him, they currently sailed at sixteen knots an hour. Her cape whipped, attesting to their brisk pace.
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  “The sea becomes unruly, Miss Wood,” the captain said. “You had best return below deck.”

  Though no clouds gathered overhead, the choppy water did leave her uneasy. It was as if a storm was taking form beyond sight, gathering strength, waiting to strike.

  Nevara shivered. “Thank you, I will.”

  The captain offered her his arm.

  She took it with gratitude, gripping the rigging with her free hand for further support. Once she was below deck, navigating the narrow corridor proved difficult as the ship swayed alarmingly, tossing her against the wooden paneling at each step. She paused by Mark’s cabin and could not help listening at his door. From inside, she thought she heard chanting. A passenger came down the corridor and Nevara hurried away, not wanting to appear as if she were snooping. Entering her cabin, she shut the door with a gush of relief.

  “God surely never meant a person to be pushed up and down and backwards and forwards like this, miss,” Mendal said. The maid, kneeling on the floor, was fighting to keep her balance while she prayed.

  Nevara stumbled past her. Changing into her night attire, she lay on the cot. Then, as she had done as a child with her aunt, she repeated the Lord’s Prayer with Mendal. The words’ familiar rhythm helped her drift off to a restless sleep.

  The next morning, she awoke on a vessel that rocked precariously. She wanted to go see if Mark had abandoned his cabin but the swaying motion of the boat churned her stomach and made her too nauseated to move.

  The second mate, John Small, came by to offer to hang a hammock for the ladies. “They are the best in the world to sleep in during a storm.” He gave Nevara a shy look. “When the ship rocks, they hang vertically from the beams.”

  Nevara gratefully accepted his offer. Mendal gave the seaman a suspicious glare and stood between him and Nevara like a royal guard the entire time he worked on the hammock.

  “Shall I hang one for you, miss?” he asked Mendal.

  “No, thank you. I will not be comfortable staying suspended in midair like a bird.”