Nightsong

by Valerie Sherwood

  Carolina looked up sharply at the inflection in Penny’s voice. ‘You mean - ’

  ‘You don’t want to hear about the things that happened on New Providence,’ Penny said softly. Her impish grin flashed. ‘Not everyone was smart enough to accept matelotage!'

  A maid came to the door and stuck her head in to announce that dinner was ready.

  ‘What did she say?’ sighed Penny. ‘How I wish I’d paid more attention to learning Spanish when Ramona Valdez lived with us! I can’t understand a word that’s said in the governor’s house!’

  ‘She said it’s time to go down to dinner,’ Carolina explained. ‘Come with me, Penny, and I’ll present you to Don Diego.’

  Penny shrugged and together the two girls trailed downstairs.

  Dusk had fallen - the swift violet dusk of the tropics. The candles had been lit and burned golden in the heavy iron candelabra the governor had sent over. To the man in black and silver who stood with his booted feet wide apart at the foot of the tile stairway, the two girls presented a picture of sharp contrasts: the tall statuesque redhead crisply gowned in black and white, and the daintier blonde in red voile that floated out over her yellow petticoat. She looked like a candle flame, he thought suddenly. Glowing red and yellow below and with a frostier tip - that was her hair, moonlight-fair in this dusky light.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said, bowing deeply. ‘I am honoured.’

  Penny beamed at him delightedly. It had been a long time since a man had made such an elegant leg to her.

  Carolina swept him her deepest curtsy. ‘Penny,’ she said, speaking in English as she had with him all along. ‘This is my - my protector, Don Diego Vivar. May I present my sister, Señorita Pennsylvania Lightfoot.’

  ‘Rouge,’ said Penny wickedly.

  Don Diego looked blank.

  ‘It is just a nickname,’ Carolina said hastily. ‘We call her Penny at home.’

  ‘Señorita Penny,’ said Don Diego gravely, ‘will you not share our repast with us? The governor,’ he added, scanning the groaning board, ‘has sent enough, I believe, for ten. It would founder us to eat all that.’

  ‘ would like to, sir,’ Penny said airily. ‘But I fear I am expected back to dine with the governor.’ She turned to wink at Carolina, who hoped it was true. ‘I hope to see you tomorrow.’

  She left with skirts billowing, and Don Diego pulled back a chair and seated Carolina.

  ‘You look lovely,’ he said, and sincerity rang in his voice. ‘Your buccaneer is a lucky man indeed.’

  ‘Was,’ corrected Carolina, looking him squarely in the eye. ‘Was a lucky man.’

  He studied her as he poured a glass of port wine for her. ‘And do you wish to publicize the fact that you are now alone?’

  ‘No,’ Carolina said hastily, deciding to follow his lead on anything that had to do with Kells. ‘Of course not. I will not speak of it again.’

  He gave her a contented look from across the table and dipped his port. ‘I had not thought. Perhaps you would prefer malmsey?’

  ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘I would prefer it.’

  ‘I shall speak to the governor about it tomorrow,’ he said. ‘His wine cellars seem endless. Tell me,’ he said curiously, ‘about your life in Tortuga. Or is it Port Royal?’

  ‘Both,’ Carolina said promptly. ‘On Tortuga I was very happy, but I did not know it until I left. In Port Royal I was not at all happy but I tried not to show it.’

  'And why was this?’

  ‘Because my husband - by the fraud and deceit of others - was forced to continue in the buccaneering life which he had already forsworn.’

  Across from her the dark brows lifted, and a pair of keen grey eyes sparked with interest. ‘Indeed? Tell me about it.’

  ‘It would take a long time to tell you all, but Kells had received a king’s pardon when the Marquess of Saltenham, for his own purposes, impersonated Kells and sank some English ships. Later Kells spared the marquess’s life - because I asked it. You see my best friend, Reba Tarbell, was in love with the marquess and I did not want him killed. Her father has scads of money and I knew he could easily buy a pardon for the marquess, but Reba’s mother hired false witnesses who swore the marquess was innocent, and Kells found himself once again beyond the law.’

  ‘A sad story,’ he commented. ‘You have my sympathy.’

  ‘I do not want your sympathy, sir,’ she said frankly. ‘It is your understanding that I desire.’

  ‘Indeed? I shall endeavour to see that you have it.’ He turned his attention to the hot spicy food.

  Carolina had thought she was hungry but now she toyed with the food on her plate. There was so much she wanted to know about this man . . .

  ‘How did you come here?’ she asked suddenly.

  He shrugged. ‘By chance. All things are on the knees of the gods, señorita - where we go, what we do there. This Kells, was he so good to you, that you miss him so much?’

  Her eyes brimmed suddenly with tears. ‘He was my life,’ she said huskily.

  ‘Am I so much like him, then?’ he murmured.

  ‘Looking at you is like looking into a mirror and seeing - him,’ she said.

  ‘Did he speak Spanish too?’

  ‘Fluently. Castilian Spanish. He had spent some time in Spain.’

  He frowned. ‘Was he long in Spain?’

  ‘He endured terrible things there,’ she said shortly. ‘It made him hate all Spaniards.’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘A man in a green suit strikes us and the next man we see wearing a green suit - we strike him.’

  ‘It was a little more complicated than that,’ she said, stiffening.

  ‘I see. You must defend him at all costs - his vices as well as his virtues. Well, that is loyalty. I am beginning to like you very much, Señorita Lightfoot. You have not only beauty - you have qualities.’

  ‘Why did you speak to me in English when first you met me?’ she shot at him.

  He leaned back, smiling lazily. ‘But I had been told you were English, señorita. Was I to address you in a language you might not understand?’

  ‘But you heard me speak in Spanish at the slave auction - I called out that Penny and I were sisters and not to be separated.’

  ‘Forgive me. The roar of the crowd?’ he countered smoothly.

  ‘But you must have heard me,’ said Carolina, vexed. You were seated on your horse not far away and you were looking straight at me!’

  ‘Ah, you noticed me there.’ He sounded pleased.

  ‘Of course, I noticed you!’ snapped Carolina. ‘You made yourself conspicuous by being mounted among a crowd of people on foot!’

  ‘I was preparing to ride up into the hills,’ he explained. ‘But I thought better of it when I saw the crowd and then the procession of women being led in. I was puzzled by what was going on.’

  ‘I am sure the governor enlightened you!’ she said bitterly. ‘And told you that we were all harlots from New Providence!’

  ‘On the contrary.’ He leaned forward. ‘He described you and your sister as “elegant”.’ He smiled upon her. ‘And he was right!’

  ‘Looking at you,’ she said, ‘I would almost believe Kells had a brother 1 do not know about.’

  ‘Perhaps he does,’ he said gently. ‘But that brother is assuredly not myself. Tell me,’ he added in a more curious tone, ‘did this Kells also dress like me?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Kells always wore grey. Or almost always. He cared little for clothes.’

  ‘Nor I, señorita,’ he said lightly. ‘And now you must attempt to do justice to this delicious repast the governor has prepared for us.’

  Carolina took a bite or two. It gave her strength. She looked up. ‘Yes, I wondered if you knew just why the governor is doing all this?’ she asked frankly. ‘It seems rather a lot, don’t you think?’

  His lazy smile deepened. ‘I think perhaps the governor is more devious than I had imagined. I think he may intend to trick me into folly . . .�
��

  Carolina stared at him. The man had perception and depth. Again like Kells.

  ‘What folly?’

  ‘With a lady,’ he said with a caressing look at her. ‘A lady who flames like a candle.’

  In spite of herself, Carolina felt the colour rise to her cheeks. ‘And why would he do that?’ she inquired stiffly.

  ‘Who knows? Perhaps it has suddenly come to him that he has a young daughter whose head could be turned by an older man.’

  ‘His daughter is fifteen and if she grows any plumper she may well burst her stays,’ Carolina said with asperity. Her head could be turned by anyone!’

  ‘Ah, you are harsh in your judgement.’ But his grey eyes were laughing.

  ‘I have not seen her,’ admitted Carolina. ‘But it is her chemise I am wearing, and it is both too broad and too short!’

  He laughed aloud.

  ‘I am told that she also breaks dishes and whatnot when she is angry.’

  ‘You are correct,’ he said ruefully. ‘She makes a shambles of her bedroom. All the servants complain of it.’

  ‘Does the governor not chide her?’

  ‘Rarely. He is an indulgent parent.’

  ‘Then he will allow her to marry whoever turns her head!’

  ‘Not necessarily. A man may indulge his child in everything else, but he may balk at being presented with a son-in-law he considers unworthy of her.’

  ‘But you are worthy of her!’ she blurted, and then looked down, red-faced, at the table.

  ‘How kind of you to say so,’ he said lightly. ‘However, we are not speaking of me, of course.’

  ‘No, of course not!’ She spoke too hurriedly to be believed.

  There was a little silence and then Carolina spoke up. I am told that the governor’s daughter is very jealous of Doña Jimena Menendez.’

  ‘Indeed?’ He twirled his glass idly. ‘And why would that be?’

  ‘I think you know,’ she accused. ‘You must know.’ It occurred to her suddenly that she sounded like a jealous woman herself! She fell silent as the dessert was brought in. It was flan, a smooth creamy custard, very rich, and floating in a sauce that tasted of wine.

  ‘I think I must beg your pardon,’ she said, lifting her spoon without interest. ‘Looking at your face, I keep forgetting that I do not know you well enough to say things like that.’

  ‘You are forgiven,’ he chuckled. ‘Indeed it is quite refreshing to hear what is said about one behind one’s back.’

  ‘Kitchen gossip,’ she sniffed. ‘And like as not to be untrue.’

  ‘And like as not to be true,’ he countered.

  Around them in the courtyard night had fallen. The fountain splashed in moonlight, as silvery as her pale shining hair. The candlelight picked up dancing gold and orange lights from the sheer red voile of her gown. The trade winds rustled the palms.

  ‘The tropics are delightful, but I think I would prefer a cooler climate,’ he said, loosening the lace at his throat a little against the heat.

  ‘The climate of Essex?’ she suggested.

  He shook his head. ‘Of Castile,’ he corrected, and his white teeth flashed.

  They could almost have been back in their courtyard on Tortuga, she thought dreamily. It was so easy to imagine that this look-alike was really Kells, that he had returned to her in the evening, perhaps from careening one of his ships, and that golden-haired Katje would be coming in shortly to smile a good night to them before she went to bed.

  ‘Mistress Lightfoot.’ He rose. ‘Will you stroll with me about the courtyard?’

  And that was like Kells, too. She could almost hear him saying it. She rose as if she were in a trance and paced beside him about the stone-floored courtyard.

  Suddenly in the shadow of a rustling palm he came to a halt. He was in shadow, but Carolina stood bathed in brilliant moonlight that made mysterious lights glow like witches’ lanterns in her silver eyes. The scent of bougainvillaea and roses and other flowers, pouring riotously over the railing and up the round stone pillars, was almost overpoweringly sweet. A night bird called sleepily.

  Carolina waited, breathless.

  And then it came - his lips on hers. Lightly brushing. And then more urgent, demanding. His arms went around her. She seemed to flutter in them, and then like the night bird, settled down into those arms as into a nest.

  The kiss she gave him was a kiss of yearning.

  I will pretend he is Kells, she told herself. I will pretend . . .

  His moving lips had pressed her own slightly parted lips wider apart now. His tongue was probing impudently, excitingly, leaving a trail of sweet fire where it touched. He brought her body towards him urgently until she was pressed so tightly to the black and silver of his coat - that coat he had worn, she suspected, to show respect for her, rather than choosing the comfort of just his white cambric shirt - that coat was pressed so tightly against her that its silver buttons bit into her soft flesh.

  One of his hands moved downward along her back, tracing delicately her spinal column, and she moved softly against him, surrender and desire in every slightest movement of her lithe young body.

  His lips left hers and began a fiery tracery down the white column of her neck, over the pushed-up tops of her breasts, rounded so invitingly by the tight neckline of her voile gown. His tongue had found the cleavage between her breasts and she quivered as its warm wet tip touched her.

  A soft desperate moan escaped her.

  ‘Oh, Kells,’ she whispered. ‘Kells . .’

  That hard body that held her captive stiffened. Abruptly he drew away from her - and when she would have surged forward, half-fainting with desire, he took her shoulders in his warm hands and held her away from him.

  He looked down deep into her eyes but there was a hard note in his voice.

  ‘Mistress Lightfoot,’ he said. ‘I want no warmed-over passion. I will not make love to you while you close your eyes and imagine that I am some other man!’

  She flung away from him with a sob. ‘Is it my fault you look so like him?’

  ‘No, nor is it mine,’ he said grimly. ‘Well, we may yet know one another better. But in the meantime, Mistress Lightfoot, let us go to bed - you to your bed, I to mine.’ He bowed most courteously and led her up the stairs. Sleep, for the passionate Virginia lass who could almost believe the counterfeit was real, was something she searched for desperately that night - and did not find.

  PART TWO

  The Dangerous Rival

  The songs that they sing about us

  May ever be less than true,

  But however legend may flout us

  My heart belongs to you!

  THE HOUSE ON THE PLAZA

  DE ARMAS

  HAVANA, CUBA

  Summer 1692

  21

  Don Diego was gone when Carolina arose - she was almost glad because her feelings toward him were so mixed. She dressed and wandered downstairs where old Juana - all too aware that Carolina had dined with the master last night - gave her a subservient look.

  ‘Why didn’t you call me for breakfast?’ asked Carolina.

  ‘I would have,’ Juana responded honestly. ‘But Don Diego said you were not to be disturbed.’ She hesitated. He also said that I was to accept your commands as his commands,’ she added reluctantly.

  So she was to be mistress of the household! Carolina’s spirits rose abruptly. She had been, it seemed, slave only for a day! She could only hope that Penny, next door at the governor’s house, was faring as well.

  ‘I see you have been furnished with a helper,’ she told Juana, noting the wide skirts and turban of a young island girl outside, bent over a washtub.

  'With two helpers!’ Juana declared proudly. Her broad face broke into a smile. ‘That one’s Nita and the other one’s Luz. I just sent Luz on an errand,’ she added.

  Carolina would have preferred not to have Luz, for whom she had formed a slight dislike yesterday, as a servant in her household, but th
en, she reminded herself, she must count her blessings - yesterday she had been alone and friendless in an enemy city, today she had a house and three servants!

  ‘I think I will stroll about the town after breakfast, Juana,’ she told the old servant. ‘And you can be my duena and accompany me,’ she added gaily. ‘Unless you’d prefer to send Nita?’

  ‘Oh, no, I’ll go,’ Juana said hastily. Not for the world would she have missed this gorgeous wench’s first stroll through Havana!

  ‘Wear your Sunday best, Juana,’ Carolina told the smiling old woman when breakfast was over and the dishes were being carried out by soft-footed Nita, who gave her resplendent new mistress a shy look and bent her head above the crockery plates.

  Accordingly, Juana appeared in sombre black with her hair pulled back severely. She gasped at sight of Carolina.

  Carolina, that day, was not on her best behaviour. Her world had been overturned yesterday - more than once. She was in a wicked mood.

  ‘Are you going out - like that?’ Juana asked weakly.

  Carolina whirled about in her red voile over yellow linen. Those brilliant colours alone, she knew, would mark her as something less than a lady in Havana, where patrician wives and daughters wore black - or white. It was a town of elegant mantillas and rustling dark silks and flashing fans and dark eyes and blue-black hair. Very well, lady she would not be! Instead of piling her hair up - as she would have done in Port Royal - she had decided to comb it out and wear it down in a glistening white-gold shower over her shoulders and back. It was a spectacular effect she had created with her delicate pink and white skin, her enormous mass of blonde hair floating in the breeze, and the tight red voile bodice and rippling flamelike effect of her red and yellow skirts.

  ‘There is just one thing,’ she murmured, looking down with a frown at her bare white bosom in her low-cut bodice. ‘I am sure to be sunburned if I wander about like this. Do you think you could send Nita next door to find me a parasol?’

  Juana looked a little dazed, but she promptly called to Nita, who responded with alacrity.