by Sarah Monzon
Díos.
It was a word. A prayer. The only coherent thought able to form in her mind.
The quartermaster lowered his arm, and Isabella drew a complete breath. Bile rose to her throat. Her free hand struck his pockmarked cheek, and the following sting upon her palm felt like a victory. She gave him a smug smile, but it slipped when he snatched the wrist of the offending hand and yanked both wrists above her head.
He leaned in close, his breath warming her ear. “A little fight will make this all the more fun.”
She felt her eyes go as round as a piece of eight. Her hands were bound in his grip or she’d claw his eyes out. The only weapon left to her was her legs. He stood close, which made her target accessible. With all her strength she thrust her knee up and into her captor’s groin. A curse erupted past sneering lips as his hands fell away and he doubled over.
The dagger. Isabella spied it on the ground mere feet from her. She sprang toward it but was caught around her middle and hoisted in the air, her back thudding against the vile man’s chest, his arms encasing her and cinching like a corset from el diablo.
He cursed and began to drag her farther into the room, away from the door and the dagger.
Isabella screamed and thrashed about, kicking and frantically pushing at his thick arms. Any means of escape, of fighting back, were inching away from her. One hand clamped over her mouth, and she did the only thing she could think to do. Her teeth sank into the calloused, filth-stained flesh of his palm.
“Ah!”
Isabella was flung like a sack of rice and landed hard on her rear. The contact wasn’t quite so jarring nor the descent as far as she would have thought. A quick glance down uncovered the reasons.
He’d thrown her atop the captain’s cot.
Indignation rumbled low and deep in her chest. She’d not fled her stepfather’s unwanted advances just to face the same fate with another man.
The quartermaster towered over her, trapping her. “What did you tell him?”
“I said not a word.” Díos forgive her for breaking the ninth commandment, but this man would have no qualms disobeying the sixth—for he had murder in his eyes already.
“I do not believe you.”
Isabella’s gaze darted to the door. Pepe, where are you? She waited a second, but no one rushed through the door to her rescue. No one ever had, and it appeared no one ever would.
She looked back to the quartermaster, the hard planes of his face, the puckered skin of a jagged scar above his left brow, the promise of violence in his gray eyes.
All caused her insides to quake.
“If the captain had knowledge of your subterfuge, do you not think he would have done something about it? Bound you or cast you off the ship altogether?”
The quartermaster narrowed his eyes but seemed to be considering her words. She licked her lips and continued, “Your warning rang true. Besides, it is not my battle or my concern. I only want to arrive at the New World. Nothing more. The treasure, whether it is to go to the king or to you, I care not.”
His lips turned up at the tips. “Maybe there is some sense in that pretty little head of yours after all.”
His gaze raked over her, and a shiver raced down Isabella’s spine.
“Some sense, but not much.” He leaned closer, his look lusty.
She slanted away from him, trying to maintain some distance while suppressing the fear threatening to paralyze her mind.
“We have been at sea for weeks now. Too long for a man to go without the comforts of a woman.” He reached out and trailed a finger down her neck.
Reflexes moved her muscles, and she swatted his hand away.
In a blink he brought his hand and encased it around her windpipe, crushing and cutting off all oxygen. A strangled sound tore from the back of her throat as she smacked at his arm and pried at his fingers. His hold remained secure. The corners of her vision became cloudy and darkened.
“You will be taught your place, and once you have learned it, maybe I will decide to spare you your life.” He let out a malicious laugh. “You can be an added bonus for the boys once the ship is rightfully in my command.”
Death would be preferable, which, if she didn’t fill her lungs soon, would be her fate.
The quartermaster loosened his grip around her throat and shoved his hand into her hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking her head back. Her chest expanded with an intake of breath, but there was no reveling in it. No moment to thank the good Lord for that which she’d taken for granted all her life—the ability to breathe.
Her scalp tingled from his grip on her hair, but revulsion soon covered any of her physical discomforts. His mouth, warm and wet, descended upon the exposed skin of her throat, and she felt the rumble of his moan.
Frantically she pushed against his chest, but she might as well have been pushing against a brick wall. No. A brick wall she would welcome. A brick wall stood in its place, unmoving. The quartermaster was no wall, brick or otherwise. His body moved ever closer until he was upon her, crushing her.
Bang!
The door burst open. The sudden interruption whipped the quartermaster’s head around. His eyes, dilated with desire, appeared sluggish in calculating the interference of his lascivious intent.
If only she were stronger or had a better angle—one where a large man wasn’t pinning her down—she’d take advantage of his distraction. As it was she could barely wiggle beneath the man’s weight. She strained against it and craned her neck to see past the quartermaster’s bulky frame. Who had saved her from certain defilement?
Captain Montoya stood at the entrance, feet spread in a battle stance, the promise of a fight flashing in his black eyes. One arm crossed his body as he marched into the room, hand ready on the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. His boots thunked against the floor, and Isabella thought she’d never heard a more blessed sound.
“Unhand the woman, Romero.”
The quartermaster’s jaw tightened, but he raised his hands into the air.
Slowly the crushing weight lifted off Isabella’s body. She shuffled to the other side of the cot and then caught the captain’s gaze. He motioned behind him with his head. Message received, although not necessary. She would happily put as much distance as possible between herself and the quartermaster as she could.
Tío stepped through the doorway, and she scurried into his outstretched arms. He ran his hand over her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Are you well, mi sorbina?”
She nodded into his chest. Another minute and she wouldn’t have been. As it was, she felt bruised and shaken, but at least she was still whole.
“What trouble you have brought aboard my ship, Romero, and after everything I have done for you.” Captain Montoya stopped a few feet in front of the quartermaster, his hand still poised on his weapon.
Hatred rolled off the quartermaster’s body like steam from a boiling pot. “I would be in command of my own vessel if not for your report.”
“You would be rotting in prison, or worse, swinging from a noose, if not for my intervention.” He shook his head. “It seems I only prolonged your fate.”
The quartermaster’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll not do either.”
Isabella would not have thought a man Romero’s size could move with the speed he did. Quicker than the flick of a matador’s cape, he removed a blade from his knee-length boots and lunged at Captain Montoya’s middle. The captain jumped back as the sound of his sword coming free of its sheath rent the air.
Romero lunged again. Zing. Metal clashed against metal.
Isabella’s heart raced. Tío’s arm held tight around her shoulder, comforting but also perhaps a little restraining. Did her uncle know she thought to help the captain? It was uncertain which opponent had the upper hand. Romero’s blade was short but ghastly, while Captain Montoya wielded his rapier like an extension of his arm.
Captain Montoya parried another attack, this time a slash intended to cut
his face. He weaved to the side and then brought his sword up at an angle. The quartermaster hissed through his teeth and clutched his midsection. He pulled his hand away. Blood not only tinged his fingers but seeped from the long gash under his rib cage. Face already flushed, the color deepened with fury.
Isabella expected the quartermaster to roar and advance with a volley of powerful blows. Instead he circled the captain with deliberate steps.
Captain Montoya matched Romero’s stride. Footstep answered footstep. The captain’s shoulders bunched under his leather jerkin, eyes alert to any movement that may need to be deflected or any opening that would provide a good attack.
There must be something she could do. Why had Tío Pepe not brandished his sword and joined in the foray? Surely between him and the captain they could defeat Romero in minutes. The standoff between the two men pulled her nerves so tight she thought they’d sever completely. Still they circled each other with the speed of a tortuga. She was not fooled, however. That turtle could turn into a tornado in any second.
As if to prove her point, Romero sprang forward. The captain didn’t meet the oncoming blade with his own, but spun away from it in one fluid motion, landing his elbow in the back of the quartermaster’s head. The large man stumbled forward, but Captain Montoya did not pursue.
Why didn’t he slice the vile beast into pieces? If Isabella had her dagger and the skill in which to wield it, she would not hold herself back, as the captain seemed to be doing.
“Will you yet surrender?” Captain Montoya still stood in position, ready if Romero came at him again.
The quartermaster looked up and spit near the captain’s boots. “Never.”
For the first time since the dual began, Captain Montoya struck first.
Zing. Clash.
Romero answered the captain’s first two attack maneuvers, but then Captain Montoya’s sword swung down, and the quartermaster’s dagger clanged to the floor. He sprang for it, but the captain kicked it across the room.
“I ask you again—will you not surrender?”
The quartermaster dove for Captain Montoya’s middle. His arms reached around the commanding officer’s back, and they tumbled to the ground. The captain’s rapier slipped from his grip.
Isabella covered her mouth against the sharp intake of breath. With a sword fight she’d believed the captain to be the better opponent, but in an all-out brawl? His lean muscles, though strong, were no match for the brawn and power behind Romero’s sheer size.
Romero pushed himself up until he straddled Captain Montoya. His fist closed and slammed into the captain’s head. Again. And again.
“Do something.” Isabella quaked against her uncle’s side.
He squeezed her shoulder, and she looked up into his face. Regret made his eyes appear heavy. “I am. I am doing what I should have been doing while Hernando was abusing you and mi hermana back in Spain—protecting you.” His voice wavered as he struggled with his words. “I can never get my sister back, but I will not lose you as well.”
Isabella opened her mouth to offer some condolence, to assure him it wasn’t his fault Mama had died, but her words were cut off by the sound of crushing bones. She turned toward the sound. Blood oozed from the captain’s lip and matted the dark hair of his goatee. Already his face was beginning to swell and color.
Isabella couldn’t just stand there. If she did, Captain Montoya would surely die. But what could she do? She took a step forward, thinking that if she flung herself on Romero’s back, it could earn the captain a moment to regain an upper hand.
The ship dipped, and she stumbled slightly to the right. Ouch. The slippers the captain had made her wear to accompany the dress did not protect her feet quite so well as had Hernando’s boots. She glanced down at the offending object, and hope lifted her heart from its miry depths.
Her dagger.
“Isabella, don’t.”
But it was too late. She swooped the dagger up, then lifted the hem of her skirt and sprinted toward the quartermaster, whose large body still hunkered over Captain Montoya, now limp.
She raised the blade above her head and plunged it into Romero’s back.
Instead of slumping forward, he roared like a mighty lion and turned, the hilt of her dagger still sticking from where she’d driven it.
She stumbled and landed on her rear. She continued to shuffle back across the floor and away from his murderous stare. Her back hit the wall. There was nowhere else she could flee.
He loomed before her, a sadistic grin spreading across his face.
Every muscle taut, her legs and arms growing numb, she waited. Any second he’d crush her as easily as a cochineal bug, her blood brighter than any red dye gotten from the insect.
The seconds stretched, and the grin froze on his face. Her eyes slid down and landed on the point of a rapier extending from his stomach.
Isabella gasped.
The quartermaster stumbled forward and landed in a heap at her feet.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isabella covered her mouth and turned her head away from the sight of the quartermaster’s lifeless body. Already she had been witness to too much death. First her mother, then Luis, and now another corpse lay mere feet from her. Would it ever end? She’d run for safety, but it seemed the angel of death would chase her to the ends of the earth.
Footsteps shuffled across the wide-plank floor, and she managed a peek from the corner of her eye. Tío Pepe stepped around Romero’s legs and then hunkered down in front of her. His eyes searched hers.
She squeezed them tight against his probing. Exhaustion pulled on her shoulders, on her spirit. The brave mask and unaffected attitude she’d donned was slipping, and she hadn’t the strength to right them.
The weight of her uncle’s warm hand lay on her shoulder, and instead of crumbling under it, she drew comfort from his presence. Was he the one who’d come to her aid? Who’d thrust the sword through Romero’s middle? Her eyes flicked to the prone body, the long blade and hilt sticking from his back straight into the air.
“Are you well, mi sorbina?” Juan’s voice held concern, and Isabella felt something shift within her. It had been so very long since someone had cared for her well-being.
The numbness that had taken over her limbs was beginning to dissipate, leaving behind a tingling sensation. Like the summer sun thawing the winter snow, her fear melted away.
Captain Montoya shifted on the ground and then sat up, his hand held to his head. A moan escaped cracked and bloodied lips.
Isabella scrambled to her feet and stepped to his side, her uncle following in her wake. She knelt in front of the captain. Her hand lifted but stopped midair. Would her touch cause him more pain? One eye was swollen shut and already turned a purple to rival a field of Spanish lavender.
He held one arm protectively about his middle as he worked his jaw back and forth. He looked up, and his eyes locked on hers. They held as if connected by some unseen cord.
A ripple of awareness stirred in Isabella’s belly. It hadn’t been so long ago that those same black orbs had left her feeling intimidated. Now they filled her with…something else entirely. Something new—different. And not wholly unpleasant.
“It seems I have you to thank for preventing every bone in my body from being crushed.” He turned his head to the side and continued speaking at a lower volume. “Although it wounds my manly pride sorely that it was necessary for you to have done so.”
Isabella smirked but then covered her mouth with her hand. She had no wish to wound his manly pride further by laughing at him.
The ship rocked from side to side, and her stomach rolled, her mirth falling away. She had grown used to the different motions of the vessel. The stillness when the wind died and the ship sat in the water like a log thrown into a large lake. When the winds picked up and the sails were hoisted, the ship bounced along, much the same way her father had bounced her upon his knee. Then there was the gentle swaying when the ship was turned in such
a way that the waves lapped against its side.
The movement now was none of those. More like a naughty child rocking a cradle with too much force. Any more and the baby would likely fall right out.
The ship pitched again, and Isabella lost her balance and stumbled forward onto her knee. Her uncle caught her elbow while the captain grabbed ahold of her other hand.
Captain Montoya stood and helped her to her feet. Lines formed above his brow. He looked past her but a moment and then turned without a word and rushed out of the cabin.
Isabella didn’t know a lot about ships, or the sea, or the men who commanded them both, but one did not need to possess great knowledge to understand the serious nature which had befallen them. For not even after she’d informed the captain of the planned mutiny had he marched off with such haste and determination. She took a step toward the door to follow, but Tío stopped her with a hand to her arm. She turned, and the same look that had taken over the captain’s strong face owned her uncle’s as well.
She laid her hand atop his. “What is it?”
“The weather has turned foul.” He tried to brighten his countenance—for her sake, she was sure—but worry dampened any forced lightness. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Stay here below deck. I am going above to be of service.”
Before she could respond, she found herself alone once more in the captain’s cabin.
Arh! She wanted to scream. Men were so infuriating. Had she not proven herself capable? Was it not she who had come to the captain’s aid, attacked a man more than twice her size, and even thrust her blade into his body without a quiver of doubt? If the captain and her uncle thought to protect her genteel faculties, then they were years too late.
The galleon continued to rear and buck worse than an unbroke stallion. She spread her feet and put out her arms to balance herself against the wild movement. Once she’d seen a boy place a plank atop a small cannonball near the docks. He’d stood on the wood, legs spanning so the ball was directly underneath him. Isabella had thought it would’ve been fun to see if she could balance upon it as well. Turned out it wasn’t so fun after all.
