But Diego’s plan had no chance to be put into effect. Even as they boarded the Maravilloso, the Spanish captain’s eyes lit up at sight of Veronique and her silent lover.
“Make way for the duquesa of Sedalia-Catalonia,” he said, shouldering people aside. “How are you, Diego? We have been scouring the seas, looking for you both. Word had reached the duke in Madrid that while you were escorting the duchess home from her visit with relatives in Cartagena, you were both taken when that devil of a buccaneer seized the plate fleet. It is good to see you both looking so well. Suitable cabins will be prepared at once. I hope that you will both do me the honor of sharing a bite of supper with me—once I have got this rabble taken care of.”
“Thank you, we have both eaten,” said Veronique distantly. She recognized Captain Garcia as someone in her husband’s retinue that she had met once or twice.
“It is good to see you too, Ferdinand,” said Diego. “I did not know that you had become captain of the Maravilloso.” He could hardly keep the gloom out of his voice.
“Since just after you left for Cartegena,” Captain Garcia assured him.
“She is a worthy vessel, Ferdinand.”
“Aye—a better one than I had before!” Ferdinand laughed. He was in fine spirits. His master would be delighted with him and he might next be given a ship with tall castles at stern and bow, such a ship as his heart yearned for!
But Diego’s heart had sunk into his boots. Ferdinand was a friend, yes, a drinking companion. But he was also totally incorruptible. Ferdinand would be shocked should Diego offer to bribe him—nor would he be moved by Diego’s plea that the lady loved him. With his dying breath, the loyal Captain Garcia would carry out his instructions to the letter. Whatever hope there was for spiriting Veronique away would have to come on shore, for it would not come aboard this vessel! “Where are you bound, Ferdinand?” he asked his friend.
“For Spain, I hope, as soon as we make rendezvous with—” Captain Garcia turned irritably to an officer who had just come up and muttered something to him. “Yes, what is it, Ramon?” And then, “I am sorry, Diego. There are some problems with these passengers, it would seem. I will see you presently.”
But he did not return presently. The problems with the passengers must have proved enormous, for Captain Garcia did not return at all. As they waited, Veronique and Diego were ushered into adjacent staterooms.
Disregarding the danger, Veronique insisted that Diego come in and talk to her.
“I remember seeing this Captain Garcia only once or twice,” she told Diego frankly. “And then when he came to see my husband on some matter or other. But he seems to be a friend of yours—at least he greeted you warmly. Do you think you can trust him?”
“In some things perhaps, but not in this matter. Not as regards us.” Diego shook his head and his strong jaw hardened. “Ferdinand would as soon slash off his sword arm as be derelict in his duty to Don Luis. His is an unswerving loyalty that knows no shades of gray.”
“Then we are lost!”
“No, he said that we were making rendezvous—with another ship, no doubt. Perhaps we can find some reason to be transferred aboard her. And her captain may prove more amenable. You still have your jewels?”
She nodded.
“You may need them. But with luck,” he promised her, “we may yet buy our way out.”
He had but little belief that that would happen, but he wanted to give his lady hope.
“Diego,” she said, touching his arm. “You will stay the night?”
He gave her a haggard look. “I dare not, querida. Ferdinand said he would see me presently. He may come looking for me at any time. I should not be here even at this moment.”
“Diego.” Her low wail tore at his heart. “Do not deny me! This may be the last time you will ever hold me in your arms!”
“No,” he said hoarsely. But it was with a wrench that he managed to back away from her, for all his being wanted to seize her and hold her and never let her go. “I will not be the immediate cause of your death,” he said harshly. “If Ferdinand were to report to Don Luis that we had spent the night together on board his ship, Don Luis would not wait for trial—he would run you through with his sword.”
“He will kill me, anyway!”
“No, he will not,” he told her stubbornly. “I, Diego Navarro, promise you that. I do not know how I will manage it, but manage it I will.” Even if it is with my dying breath, he promised himself. “Good night, Veronique.”
“You can call me Maria again,” she told him disconsolately. “Better I call you duquesa," he muttered.
“Diego.” She called to him softly at the door. “If you do not stay with me, I promise you that I will come to your cabin. I will sigh at the door and beat upon it until you relent and let me in!”
His feet had dragged him to the door and now he turned with a groan. “Veronique, it is for your own safety.”
She was taking off her clothes even as she had spoken, and now the sight that greeted him was of a wine red velvet bodice half shrugged off, of creamy olive skin, ripe and smooth and inviting, seen through the black lace of her chemise—and of a reckless and beautiful aquiline face half obscured beneath a cloud of dark curls.
“I do not want to be safe, Diego,” she said quietly, “I want to be loved.”
Her wistful words struck a note in him and made him remember.... Skin of silk and eyes of amber. The first time he had ever seen her, the very first, he had been but a stripling lad and she a child with a challenging face peering out at him from behind her duenna’s severe black skirts as they circled the Plaza del Mercado. He had felt strangely exhilarated even then. And when next he had seen her, very proper, dressed all in white with a lacy mantilla over her dark hair on her way to church, he had not been able to take his eyes from her. Afterward he remembered that he had dashed through the park of his father’s estate, leaping over stones, hurdling bushes in a most unseemly way.
After that he had set out to win her favor—in boyish ways. He had near broken his neck riding recklessly to get her attention. And then, as a man, he had come courting. His father, knowing his son’s passion for the lovely Dona Maria, had—when Dona Maria’s father had confided that the great lord Don Luis was interested in the girl, the marriage as good as arranged—prudently sent Diego away so that he might not disgrace himself and his family by attempting to storm her balcony and elope with her. He had judged his son shrewdly, for that was exactly what Diego would have attempted.
Hair of ebony, skin of silk, and mouth of velvet. Her golden eyes rested on him beseechingly and Diego was instantly reminded of everything he had ever loved about Spain: the green waxy leaves of the orange trees, the fragrant blossoms, the soft winds that blew north out of Africa, the flashing skirts of flamenco dancers, the merry fiestas with laughing young girls in billowing ruffles riding through town in gaudy carts, the brilliant snapping banners, and the towering alcazars and the bells that chimed through the dusk. And the promise, ever in his mind, that one day he would take this lovely lady home with him.
As if bereft of reason, he felt himself melt. He moved toward her like a man beset. She held out her arms to him and her smile would have moved the devil to tears.
“Oh, Diego,” she murmured, pressing her lithe slender form against him, letting her soft breasts move maddeningly across his chest. “Do not deny us this last evening together. Captain Garcia may knock on your door, find you gone—but you can make some excuse, tell him that you were walking about on the deck and missed him. He will believe you. But for us ...” they were falling upon the bunk even as she spoke “.. .there can be no other time—only this moment.”
Diego forgot reason and sense. He let his wild love for this passionate beauty carry him along as if there were no tomorrow. His lips found hers eagerly, hungrily. And he could feel as well as hear through those lips the little moans and gasping sobs of passion that his nearness engendered. For them this night of love became a night of
fury, of passion that crested and peaked and crested again. A night of bliss, of surrender, of madness, of torrents of sighs and sweetness too ecstatic to be believed.
Tomorrow would carry its own burdens—they had tonight. And they cherished and caressed each moment as if it were to be their last.
It was early when Veronique left the cabin. She had been loath to leave it, holding out her white arms to him, but Diego had been adamant.
“You must go out and tell me when there is no one in the corridor,” he told her urgently. “I must not be seen leaving your cabin.”
To please him, she had dressed—again in the low-cut red velvet, although all her things had been brought aboard. She gave him a rueful smile, and went out and beckoned to let him know that there was no one there. He came swiftly out.
“Go up on deck,” he told her. “I will join you—after I have made the bunk in my cabin look slept in.”
She touched his cheek with light caressing fingers, her eyelids still heavy with sleep—and desire. Then she moved with that light floating walk that was so distinctive, away from him.
When Diego hurried at last to the deck, he found Veronique standing by the rail in the morning sunshine. She turned and acknowledged him gravely. “Diego, I hope you slept well.” He realized then that Captain Garcia was standing nearby, studying the horizon intently through his glass.
“Very well, thank you,” he told her in an expressionless voice, for Ferdinand must not be allowed to suspect. He tried to keep his eyes from devouring her. “Would you care to take a turn around the deck?”
“Captain Garcia has asked me to wait while he studies the sea,” she explained, giving him a wistful smile. “He thinks he sees something out there that will interest me.”
They stood there facing each other. They seemed suspended in space and time, these two who had so lately been locked in each other’s arms. Captain Garcia continued to stare through his glass while they made polite conversation as if they were casual strangers, people meeting for the first time.
The French passengers from La Belle France had been allowed the freedom of the deck. They passed by in huddled little groups—and in passing gave Veronique and Diego suspicious looks. Why were they being treated so royally? Not put in with the rest but given special cabins, they had heard! And what had Captain Garcia called her? A duchess? They kept their distance watchfully.
Veronique noted their frightened looks but she had no reassurance to give them. She felt as lost as they.
After a long time, Captain Garcia turned to Diego with a broad smile on his jovial countenance.
“I thought I would have a surprise for you along about now,” he said merrily. “Take a look through the glass, Diego, and then let the duquesa have a look. I will have a bottle of good Canary sent to my cabin and we will all celebrate there presently.” He bowed and left them.
It was with reluctance Diego had taken the glass, and with reluctance that he looked through it now. He studied the horizon—and the ship that rose and fell on that horizon.
Approaching them at a leisurely pace was a true castle of the sea. Her lofty bow castle and her mighty stern castle rose stories high, gilded and sparkling—tall keeps built high for battle. She was an imposing and terrifying sight as she marched toward them under a mountain of white canvas. He studied her for a long time.
“What do you see?” Veronique asked him impatiently. “What is this surprise the captain speaks of?”
In silence Diego handed her the glass.
She looked through it and he could hear the sudden intake of her breath. She gave him the glass with nerveless fingers and sagged against him.
“It is the Alforza—the Scar," she whispered. “It is Don Luis’s flagship—and see that flag, it is his personal flag. He will be aboard her!”
Diego looked wistfully at the advancing seven-hundred-ton Levanter and his arm went around Veronique’s trembling shoulders and tightened. He knew that he was looking at one of the greatships of Spain. Her menacing gunports counted fifty-two and her admiral, Don Luis, duque of Sedalia-Catalonia, was no less formidable.
Diego had diced with Fate and lost the toss. There was no future for him anywhere now. But—he looked down tenderly upon those shining dark curls that had for a little while lain on his pillow—he could yet save her life. If only she would let him.
“Veronique.” Very gravely, Diego wheeled her around to face him. There was no time now for love or pity—only for survival. They would soon be aboard that seagoing castle, facing Spain’s most formidable grandee.
Veronique had hold of herself now. Her natural dignity had come to the fore. Still, something in his voice tore at her heartstrings as he spoke her name.
She lifted her head and met his grave, steady gaze. For a moment the lovers looked at each other with a wild surmise.
“Now listen to me, Veronique,” he said quietly. “This is what you must do. I will go aboard as your captor escorting you back to the husband you deserted. And you will go with humility, you will humble yourself before Don Luis.”
“No!” She would have torn herself from his grasp, but that his fingers bit into her flesh. “I hate him!”
“Pretend you do not! He has been careful to hide your defection—to save his pride. Even the captain of this ship does not know of it! And he must not learn of it from us. What passes between you and Don Luis will be said in private. None will know or care what Don Luis says to his wife in the privacy of his cabin. Meantime I will be acting strangely. I will say a strange-tasting wine was served me aboard the French ship. And when Don Luis comes out of his cabin I will appear to have a hallucination. I will cry out that I see demons and I will draw my pistol and inadvertently shoot him. Through the heart.”
Veronique drew a long shivering breath. “So you will make me a widow to save my life. But what about you?”
“Do not think about that,” he said gently. “It is enough that I have loved you.”
“I will not let you do it!" she cried in a heartbroken voice. “Diego, I will not let you die for me!”
“Very well.” His face was harassed. “Then we will try another tack. He is a religious man, you have told me?”
“Deeply.” Her voice was bitter. “But I think it is not God but the devil who claims his soul!”
“Then you will tell him that you had a vision in that alcazar where he imprisoned you in Castile. You will tell him that the Virgin appeared to you and told you to steal away and go to the New World, there to rebuild your spiritual life in some holy place—a convent, perhaps. Tell him you desire to become a nun. Tell him you have repented and seek salvation. Tell him anything, swear it on your knees—but manage to survive this journey. When we reach Spain, I will find a way to rescue you.”
She gave him a fond sad look. There was a farewell in that look, for she was already certain of the course that he would take. He would rid her of Don Luis—and die in the doing of it.
“Of course,” she said mechanically. “I will do as you say. Diego.” And then I will die with you. It was a pact unspoken, made between herself and God.
Beside her, Diego squared his jaw. For he knew what he must do.
CHAPTER 18
Esthonie learned about the Sea Rover's sailing and Veronique’s disappearance at almost the same time. Clad in an enveloping pink dressing gown, she was seated with Gauthier at breakfast—a late breakfast, since the entire household was exhausted from last night’s festivities. Virginie and Jean Claude, understandably tired from their exertions, were not yet down. Georgette, she supposed, still lingered in her room. Gauthier, who had been up earlier, brought her the news about the Sea Rover's disappearance from the bay just as one of the servants came in to report that Veronique’s bed had not been slept in.
“Well!” Esthonie set down her spoon and forgot all about her porridge. “Do you think there could be something to the gossip, after all? Do you think van Ryker actually took her with him?" Her eyes gleamed at how furious lmogene woul
d be if he actually had.
“Of course not,” said Gauthier energetically. “She is probably out riding. She often rides in the morning.”
“Well, of course you can check with the stableboys and see if the horse is gone too,” said Esthonie regretfully. “But wouldn’t it be amusing if he had taken her with him?”
“You would do better to make your arrangements to move into his house if they are really gone,” advised the governor briskly. “For you will not wish to leave it vacant and there will be much to do.”
“Oh, yes, I am sure there will be,” said Esthonie in a vague voice. She was more interested at the moment in scandal than in moving her household. “I must say they might have told us they were leaving,” she said in an injured tone.
“ ’Tis understandable. There’s word about that there are those who may seek to corner van Ryker when he sails. I hope he has escaped their net.”
“Yes, of course,” said Esthonie absently. To her mind, buccaneers were quite capable of taking care of themselves. She looked up as Virginie, followed by Jean Claude, sauntered into the room.
Virginie was looking sleepy-eyed—and kittenish. She was wearing her pink organdy and she moved seductively, swinging her hips, obviously to fascinate Jean Claude who followed. His eyes, considering the amount he had had to drink last night, were exceptionally bright and he was watching his young bride’s languorous approach to the breakfast table with relish.
Obviously, despite its unpropitious beginning, the wedding night had been a success.
Gallantly Jean Claude pulled back Virginie’s chair. Virginie smiled and leaned against him lovingly before sitting down. The submissiveness of her daughter’s gestures made Esthonie want to throw up. She gave Virginie a frown.
“Did you sleep well?” she inquired tartly.
Jean Claude favored his new mother-in-law with a broad smile. “Never better, madame!”
Virginie simpered and chose not to answer at all. She hardly took her adoring eyes from Jean Claude’s face. Esthonie decided suddenly that she did not like that face; she wondered what she had ever seen in Jean Claude.
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