“I am not taking my clothes off.”
“Then I hope the damp takes you, you stubborn goose.”
Luísa folded her arms in front of her chest. “What do you take me for, Inglés? I’ll not give you fodder for gossip.”
“My lady, despite my English blood, I can promise you I won’t tell a soul I saw you naked.” He leaned toward her. “Come now, Luísa. Take off those clothes before you chill yourself to an early death.”
“I’ll take my chances with the damp.”
“Aye, but I’m not willing to take that chance. I’ll not have you slow us down with your papist principles. Take your clothes off or I’ll rip them off.”
English pig! She didn’t doubt he’d make good on his threat. It pained her that he spoke true. Neither of them could afford to fail the other now.
“Turn around,” she commanded.
He arched a brow, his mouth twitching with annoyance. “Luísa—”
“I mean it. Turn around.”
Daltry stood up and turned around. His white drawers were still damp and they molded around his buttocks in a lingering caress. She tried to look away, but her eyes returned to his well-sculpted bottom.
Slowly, she removed her shirt and then peeled off the leather breeches. She stood barefoot, her boots not far from her reach. Her dagger still secret from this heretic.
Luísa trembled as she wrung out her clothes then draped them on a nearby bush. A low-growing palm grew in reach and she snapped off several large fronds. She scurried back to her place by the fire and sat down, her knees tucked up high to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs.
“You can turn around now, Inglés.”
Daltry turned slowly, his mouth a thin line of irritation until he caught sight of her in a thin chemise and a palm frond on her lap with a matching one under her bum. The lines of his mouth turned upward.
“Don’t say anything.”
“Luísa—”
“Not a word!”
“Very well. But you might want to sit on something else. That particular palm is poisonous.”
Luísa jumped off the palm mat and threw away the one clutched to her chest. Blast that man! Her skin was already starting to itch.
Chapter Eleven
They tried to steal some sleep, but the jungle wouldn’t allow it. It stirred restless and angry, like the sea when it hadn’t been given the proper respect. Paqua would have known what to do. He would have pulled out his pouch of little bones and powders, and he would have appeased the spirits of this island.
Spirits. That’s what made the Isla de Sempiterno different. Aside from Daltry and herself, Luísa had seen no sign of man. There had been no smoke in the breeze and no docks on the shore. The isle lay in treacherous waters, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be natives.
Yet, despite the lack of inhabitants, this island was unreasonably loud and malcontent. Things unseen slithered on the ground and the trees whispered to one another. Even the air brooded, pushing the fog on top of them as if to smother them alive.
Daltry let the fire go out once they had warmed themselves and their clothes.
“We won’t relight it,” he said. “I don’t want to make it easy for Saint-Sauveur to find us in the morning.”
Luísa felt her breeches for dryness. They were still damp, but she wasn’t about to stay naked all night. “Is there a village on this island? Some place where we might find a boat.”
“Aye, there are villages here, but none we’d be fool enough to approach.”
“You told me my father was on this island, Inglés. We’ll find him first before we leave.”
“Haven’t you been listening? Saint-Sauveur is after us and we’re on an island where no inhabitant, save one, will help us.”
Luísa raised her brow. “Where is this noble soul of hospitality?”
Daltry nodded to the east. “There,” he said. “Up a hill where the fog never fades.”
“Blast the fog. It doesn’t seem to diminish here either. I’ve never seen a mist so thick this far in a jungle.”
“Don’t curse the fog, Luísa. It protects us from those who would hunt us down.”
Luísa sighed. “I suppose you’re right. No sailor loves a fog though. It’s in our blood.”
Daltry chuckled. “In your blood? That’s a queer thing to say, kitten. You weren’t born to the sea. Your father forced you into it.”
“What tales are you telling now, Capitán? You know nothing about me.”
“I know he took you to sea when you were but a child. And I know Captain Tavares signed each crewman to a blood oath to protect you with his life. Not a standard article of commission.”
Luísa narrowed her eyes at him. What sort of man could know that kind of information about her—about her father?
“It would be of interest to me how you came across these details.”
Daltry shrugged with indifference. “Men talk, especially when something strikes them as peculiar.”
“I suppose it is,” she said thoughtfully. “You’re right. I wasn’t born a pirate. But everything changed when Mamacita died. Papa wouldn’t leave me in Spain with my dueña. And he wouldn’t send me to my Portuguese relatives in Brasil. He said it wasn’t safe.”
“So he took you to the sea. A mere child.”
“Aye,” she said softly. “It seemed a grand adventure at first. It kept me from missing my mother too much.”
“A ship full of pirates is no place for a little girl.” He studied her with a pained expression on his face. It was as if he understood what had been taken from her.
“It’s been a fine life, Capitán. And I’m not a little girl anymore.” She snapped her breeches off the thorny bush where they’d been drying and hid herself behind them.
She cleared her throat, canting her head in expectation. He stared at her, clueless at first before he got her drift.
Daltry scowled, but turned his head nonetheless. She let him turn around as soon as she had most of her shirt buttons secured.
Luísa averted her eyes when Daltry got up to check his trousers. Much as she liked the view, she could still hear Paqua scolding her for her impure thoughts.
Luísa fumed at the injustice. With enough coin, any cabin boy could bed a woman of his choosing, but she, with all the privilege of rank and class, couldn’t so much as flaunt a bare ankle. And God forbid she show any interest in a man. Papa had made it clear that the only man she’d know was the one that would marry her.
God was not only unjust, but mean-spirited.
She took a quick peek behind her. Thank God, Daltry was nearly dressed.
It would be dawn soon and she had no more answers today than when they met. To add to the tally, she had lost her crew and was now stranded on an island with her enemy, an enemy that had done much to save her. He had not only escaped his chains, but had boarded a second ship unseen. For what reason?
Why would an English bounty hunter save a known pirate?
He had mentioned he needed her help to free someone, a woman. Was there more to that story? Perhaps she could wheedle more out of him. She turned as casually as she could and checked on her boots.
“When we met, Capitán, you said you needed my help to free someone.”
“Aye. If anyone could free her, it could be you.”
“Is she in prison?”
He shrugged. “Yes. I suppose you might call it that, a prison she doesn’t deserve.”
A woman in prison. His favorite trollop, no doubt. Her smile turned into a smirk. “What happened? Did she get caught plying her trade?”
Daltry paid her with a cross look. “Careful, kitten. Mustn’t call the kettle black. I happen to love this lady very much.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she said smugly. “But I’m not inclined to do favors for pirate-hunters and their tarts. My only concern is finding my father and getting off this island.” Her fists tightened, recalling all she had lost. “Restore my father, heretic, and we’ll see about yo
ur lover.”
Had she been anyone else, he would’ve boxed her ears, but he had to treat her gently. Now that he had her and the moonstone on the island, they were only a full moon away from freeing his sister.
He hadn’t wanted to get involved with Luísa or her father, but when Saint-Sauveur made his move to offer a bride price, he’d been forced to act.
Saint-Sauveur had stepped up his efforts to garner complete dominion. At the time, he thought Inácio Tavares was the key. What better way to control the old man than through his daughter. But all along it was Luísa they needed, and the blue stone that hung around her neck.
If Daltry could steal the scion from right under Saint-Sauveur’s nose, he’d also save Sibyl in the deal. But that meant challenging that impotent Frenchman openly, before he carried out his monstrous plan.
Too long had he sat on the sidelines, refusing to involve himself with pack business. Now the pack threatened to tear itself apart. Two rival factions and Saint-Sauveur was at its center, orchestrating the mayhem.
His sister had been right, as always. Hiding in the open seas had done nothing but propel Saint-Sauveur’s ambitions. Now all their lives were at risk.
Daltry weighed his options. With little effort of his own, he had brought the girl within reach of the moonstone’s mate. But they were in more danger now than before. Saint-Sauveur must have realized that Luísa was no longer on the Vengeance. He’d launch boats at dawn. Daltry knew he could evade that false priest and his toady crew, but he couldn’t escape the jungle. Even now it stirred. It knew Luísa was here.
Luísa fumbled with her boots, turning one over and shaking it to release a toad that had found a safe haven for the night. The other boot had something far more interesting.
Something shiny caught his eye when she shook it out. She picked it up, trying not to look conspicuous.
Daltry smiled. Clever minx. She had hidden a knife.
“If we’re to find your father, we’ll need some help. I know someone who will give us protection, at least for a little while.”
“I’d rather trust my life to dry powder and a sound matchlock, but if your friend can secure us a boat, I’ll see that he’s rewarded.”
Daltry laughed. “And when do I get my reward? Surely I’ve earned it by now.”
“You flatter yourself, Inglés. I could’ve gotten away from Saint-Sauveur in time.”
“Now who’s buttering the biscuit? You’re a brash little girl in men’s breeches. You have no idea what Saint-Sauveur is capable of doing.”
His kitten cursed him. “Blast you, Daltry. All I want to know is why he’s torturing me and mine. Have I wronged him in another life?”
Daltry was about to answer her when the air exploded with the telltale whine of bats. Within minutes the thunderous flap of a million wings flew overhead. Daltry bolted to his feet in a heartbeat and spread himself over Luísa’s body.
Her eyes grew as wide as gold doubloons. He shouldn’t have lunged at her so quickly. His inhuman speed surely raised her suspicions.
Daltry clamped a hand across her mouth and pressed her close to his body. The bats were hunting, and it wasn’t for a meal.
He kicked dirt over the remains of the smoldering embers then pulled Luísa up and into the shadows of the big trees. He pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Silently, he grabbed his boots, but didn’t put them on in case he needed to force a change in a hurry.
The way toward the main harbor lay too exposed. They had to go inland and take refuge in the realm of the dead. They had to see his sister.
The keen of wild, high-pitched screams filled the air. The wails traveled down the monkey paths and the trees, each chorus growing louder and more anxious. They were trying to locate her. He pricked his ears, trying to determine direction and distance. He nodded to the trail behind them. “Saint-Sauveur is anxious to retrieve you. He’s already on the beach. We’ll have to go deeper into the jungle if we’re to have a chance.”
“How do you know he’s landed?”
“Because I can hear his minions looking for you. They’ll search day and night and report back to him. We have to go where they dare not look. And I know of just such a place.”
They started for the jungle, and she pointed to his boots. “Don’t you want to put those on?”
“Later, perhaps. They’re still too wet to wear.” He had to lie. If it became necessary to transform without warning, the boots would bind him during the change and tear. He grew tired of ruining his boots.
He took her by the elbow and led her to the dark of the jungle. His sister was going to give him an earful. He had muddled everything. Now it seemed the prophecy was all but delivered. Saint-Sauveur would gather the night stalkers under his banner, and Daltry and his sister would become pariahs, forced to live in exile forever.
The jungle swarmed with the chitter of beasts known only to the night. He didn’t want to scare Luísa, but things were going to get a lot worse if they didn’t make it to Sanctuary soon.
Saint-Sauveur had summoned the nightwings and the werehyenas to his will. His crew might not be able to search the jungle’s depths, but there were other creatures at his disposal, beasts that would chase without conscience or pity.
A soft sucking sound echoed behind them. “Bugger me!” Daltry grunted.
“What is it?”
“We’ve got more company. Saint-Sauveur isn’t the only one who wants you.” He pointed to the trail behind them. The moist mulch wriggled with activity. Night crawlers, snakes and spiders clamored out of their hiding places, lured by the scent of live human flesh.
Luísa backed up and stepped on something crunchy. She jumped out of the way when a loud moan cursed her. She looked down to see a human hand claw its way out of a soft grave.
“Dios mío!” She made the sign of the cross. “What in blazes is going on?
The rest of the head emerged next, its flesh half eaten. Moist, rotted limbs forced their way out, clawing at the earth around it until it could pull the rest of itself out.
The walking dead had joined the chase. Only they hunted for a different master, one with even less conscience than Saint-Sauveur.
Daltry reared back and kicked the head, disconnecting it from the body and lobbing it into the verdant scrub.
The hapless ghoul stamped its bony hands all around its shoulders then turned its body to the yelp of its disembodied head.
“Here. In the brush. Find me before the girl gets away!”
Daltry snatched Luísa by the hand. “Time to go.”
Her face paled as she watched the headless body wander into the undergrowth to seek out its head. She clutched his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh. “Where are we going, Capitán Daltry?”
“Come now, Luísa,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “Call me Xander. And we’re going to a safe place. A place where Saint-Sauveur can’t touch you.”
A mounting groan welled up behind them, stopping Luísa in her tracks. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her along. “Don’t look back!”
“What was that?”
“More ghouls.”
“There’s more?” She stopped again.
This time, he was not so gentle and he jerked her along to keep moving.
“Unless you want to join their number, do not stop again. They will not rest and they will not bargain, Luísa. They’re looking for you. Now hurry!”
A long wail echoed behind them and Luísa jumped into his arms. Her clothes were still damp and her hair smelled of seaweed, but the rest of her was all softness and female. This woman had the worst timing.
“Santo de Dios! They’re everywhere.”
“This is the home of the undead. What doesn’t chase us above ground follows us below.”
Her smoky eyes grew wide trying to comprehend his words. A willful shriek cracked the wall of droning voices behind them. He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her. They were never going to make it.
Luísa d
idn’t know what to believe anymore. This tiny island had been a closely guarded secret of the sea, and now she knew why.
The unholy moans and shrieks of whatever pursued them were the stuff of nightmares. It sounded like no lament she’d ever heard before and they were gaining ground. Twice she stumbled and Xander helped her up both times.
The man who had defied every danger with cheeky confidence was in a hurry to evade this one.
Definitely the right idea. Luísa mustered all her strength and picked up the pace. Whatever dismal souls wandered this rainforest meant them ill will.
Her eyes remained downcast, fearful more ghouls would reach out from their graves and carry her below. She struggled to navigate the dark and heavy canopy of the jungle. Every footfall landed on something crunchy or squishy, or worse.
The forest floor writhed with life. Millipedes and fat larval insects rousted from beneath the leaf litter. The slow scraping sound of snakes coiled their way through the vegetation while the flapping of bat wings echoed above her.
The whole vernal mantle had awoken, hungry and malcontent.
She tripped on an exposed root and fell face forward in front of an angry viper. Luísa shut her eyes when it lunged at her, only to find Xander clutching the snake inside a tight fist. She had never known any man with reflexes that fast. Surprisingly, he didn’t kill it, but tossed it far away.
He helped her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”
“I think I twisted my ankle.”
Something rustled through the trees, and they both looked up. “I’ll carry you then.”
“No,” she groaned as she put weight on her foot. “I can walk.”
They had just begun their steady trot again when Daltry grabbed her by the waist and pushed her down on the ground, covering her with his body.
Luísa peered over his shoulder just as the trees howled to life. Black shadows shot through the air, shadows with wings and the pug-nosed faces of giant bats. They keened, short ear-piercing screeches that hit them with the force of clubs.
One beast pulled away from the mob and dove straight at them. Daltry wrapped his arms and legs around Luísa and rolled both of them into the heavy brush.
Mistress of the Stone Page 9
