Four Winds (River of Time California, Book 2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  But this? Watching my new love get tossed off a ship as night closed in? My friend tied to a mast to be whipped? Getting locked into a pirate captain’s cabin?

  The bile rose in my throat.

  Oh, God, I prayed, the rest of my plea wordless. He knew. Somehow, he knew the answer even when I didn’t have all the words to ask for what I needed.

  At least I hoped he did.

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…help us.

  CHAPTER 4

  JAVIER

  “Don’t fret over your pretty pony,” a sailor said to me as he kicked my rowboat away from the ship, bequeathing me a gap-toothed grin. “Cap’n said we could each take a turn with her if she doesn’t take to her bridle. By the time you get to Monterey, I’d wager she’ll be as tame as a brood mare.” He stroked the scraggly beard about his chin, as if appreciating the thought of it.

  I gritted my teeth and ignored him. Captain Mendoza, despite his bravado, would want those extra chests of gold. Tying Mateo up, dragging Zara into his cabin, had all been saber rattling. Had it not? I could bear to think of it in no other way than that. Grabbing hold of the oars, I took stock of the wind, the sea, and what I could see of the coast in the distance. As much as everything in me wished to return to my brother and Zara, to fight to the death in order to free them, I knew it was futile. The best thing I could do for them was to return home and find my way to Monterey…the fastest way possible.

  As I settled into the backbreaking work of rowing across deep waves—half the time leaving nothing but air for one of my oars as I crested and descended—I let out guttural cries of rage. Again and again, I raged at the storm, my circumstances, even God on high. How could this have happened? There hadn’t been pirates along Alta California’s shores since the year that men pillaged the missions for altar treasures. Most found it more profitable to import and export than to bother with such treachery. Why now? And what had happened to Captain Craig, his crew, and the Heron? Were all lost?

  Worst of all was thinking of facing Mama, and telling her that Mateo had been taken. I must get him back. I must. She’d lost Papa, Dante…and Adalia and little Alvaro had just left us. I could not fathom telling her that Mateo was lost to her too. No matter how angry I’d been with her, no matter how she’d failed Zara and me in not telling us the truth about her own mysterious travels through time…she was still my mother. And I owed her a great deal.

  I cursed the waves as they fought me and the night grew darker still. I thought of Zara—my beautiful Zara—her skirts drenched by the sea, torn between staying with me and returning to her own time. I complained to God for giving her to me the first time, not answering her call to return, then allowing her to be taken away. I grumbled at Zara for not obeying me and returning to the rancho as I’d asked…for becoming a prisoner right along with my brother. And then I laughed through my tears, forced to admit my admiration for the girl-woman. So strong. So willing to wade straight into a fight to try and aid us.

  I loved her. God help me, I loved her with an intensity that threatened to drown me. Never had a woman captivated me so. I didn’t want it…hadn’t wanted marriage. It chafed, this idea that my mother had cornered me this way, tying me back to my home with the aid of but a wisp of a woman from another time. And yet Zara had awakened me to all I had here, now. The importance of family. The steadying influence of a woman’s love. The idea that this was but one chapter in my own book of life.

  And I would do anything—absolutely anything—to get her back.

  I dug into the water all the harder, my fury at the thought of Captain Mendoza’s hand on her slender arm making me seethe. Manhandling my intended! When she and Mateo were safe, I would take great pleasure in exacting my revenge. I’d make the man wish he’d never weighed anchor in my harbor.

  Again, I wondered how he seemed to know so much of me and mine. As if some spy had told him the best ways to cripple me. It was one thing to see the entirety of my stores in the pirate ship’s hold; it was another to see my brother and my beloved at his mercy. Had it been purely poor luck that both ended up in his hands? Or had he set out to kidnap someone that he could hold for ransom, in addition to what he could steal?

  I paused and searched for the shoreline. Getting closer. The tide was with me, thank God. I’d only need walk a few hours to make it back to the rancho. Mama would be beside herself; at least in my return, she’d find some relief. And there was the matter of Captain Craig and his men. Had he survived? Were all murdered or maimed in the attack?

  I dug my oars into the water as a wave rolled past. Stars were beginning to peek out above me, and grimly, I admitted that Zara had won our wager. I laughed, mirthlessly, thinking she’d want to collect on that wager, and yet now, we were hopelessly far apart. The storm had drifted south of us, but I could feel the edge of another on the wind. I shook my head slowly, mulling it over again. Pirates, in these waters? Or had someone engaged Mendoza to deliberately cripple Craig and me, under the guise of “pirate”? Craig was a Unionist, determined to win me over for the American cause. Mendoza spoke with a fine Castilian accent—belying his Mexican or Spanish roots. Perhaps the captain from the Mexican garrison, Lieutenant de la Cruz, had paid him with my own gold to come after me? To remind me that I was in need of protection? Or had it been one of our rancho’s neighbors, figuring that if I was weakened, they could take advantage of my distraction? Perhaps the Vargas family, who had stolen our cattle at every turn and then claimed innocence?

  It mattered not. In time, I would discern what nefarious things were unfolding about us. What mattered now was getting the gold I needed and getting to Monterey before Captain Mendoza considered other options with his prisoners.

  CHAPTER 5

  ZARA

  To my surprise, the captain did not return to his cabin that night. I spent a miserable, restless night inside, either pacing or dozing at the foot of the bed—because hello, who wanted to get under those disgusting covers?—all the while half-awake, waiting for his return. I didn’t like the idea of him coming in and finding me totally out and vulnerable, so I resisted the I’m-gonna-die-if-I-don’t-sleep urge.

  But by the time I heard the low-timbred clang of four bells—and the sky showed no hint of morning—I knew I was in serious trouble. My eyes burned, and my body ached. I was chilled, and despite my reservations, I finally pulled the top cover across me, bundled up the bottom corner of blanket as a makeshift pillow, and was out in seconds.

  I woke some hours later to the sound of water filling a basin. I blinked, squinted, and then hurriedly sat up. My heart pounded in my chest when I saw what had made the sound. Captain Mendoza was stripped to the waist and faced away from me. His back was broad and strong, but a slight thickening around the waist told me he was well into his thirties. Scars here and there marred his olive skin. He dipped his hands into the water and splashed his face several times, then wiped it with a cloth. He then dipped the cloth in, wrung it out, and wiped his chest and armpits. Without looking back at me, he said, “Why did you sleep across the foot of the bed, Señorita?”

  “I didn’t dare to truly sleep,” I returned.

  “Why ever not?” He pulled on a clean shirt and turned toward me. I could see the purpled bruise left on his neck from my blow on the beach, but he ignored my drifting eyes as he tucked the shirt into his breeches and reached for his coat.

  “There is no need to feign ignorance, Captain,” I said, not dropping my gaze. “I am on my captor’s ship. My beloved has been cast off in the middle of the night, and my friend lashed to the mast. None of that makes for a good night’s sleep, does it?”

  “Pshaw,” the captain scoffed, flicking out his hand. “Ventura likely made shoreline before midnight. And the boy was lashed to the mast, yes, but I wager you never heard the crack of a whip or cat-o’-nine, did you?”

  It was true. I hadn’t. But I thought it might have been too difficult to hear over the creak of the ship’s timbers, the rush of waves and wind.

  C
aptain Mendoza gave me a small smile. “The boy spent a miserable night outside, and he is likely quite stiff with cold, but his skin has not suffered the cut of a whip.”

  “So it was all for show, your threats?”

  He squinted, and his lips thinned. “For show? No, my dear. I prefer to think of it as encouragement for your dear Javier. I don’t wish for him to tarry. He must hasten to Monterey, if he intends to collect you and Mateo before I discover other ways in which I could capitalize on your unique…virtues.”

  He moved over to a chest in the corner, flipped open the creaky lid, rustled through it a moment, and then tossed a blue gown onto the bed. He dumped the basin of water into the chamber pot, refilled it with the pitcher, and set out a fresh cloth beside it. “Now clean yourself up and change out of that gown. We shall break bread together after I fetch Ventura the Younger from his post.”

  He winked and then exited the cabin, leaving me feeling a bit bewildered. Half the time I read subtle threat from him; the other half I believed he simply enjoyed toying with me. I again wondered how I was supposed to cope with this. It was one thing to take on a jerk in my own time; it was another to deal with a freaking pirate. And this guy was nothing like Johnny Depp.

  I blinked, my eyes feeling dry and weary. I had to get a grip if I was going to be able to figure my way out. For my sake, but also for Mateo’s. He was just a fifteen-year-old kid—he’d need me. I lifted the clean, blue gown—similar to my green, but with white lace instead of black—and glanced down at my wine-soaked bodice. It would feel good to get out of the dress and into something new, as well as take a quick basin bath. My skin was itchy with saltwater spray and sweat and wine.

  I went to the cabin door, barred it, and then hurriedly stripped off my gown. I washed as fast as I could, pulled on the blue dress—which was cut a little lower in the bodice—and then dipped the cloth again to continue my bath. Spotting a comb that appeared carved from bone, I let down the remainder of my hair, carefully setting the pins to one side, and combed it out. Sand tumbled to the table and floor, reminding me of my last hours with Javier, and then at the harbor storehouse. It was all such a nightmare. I longed to escape it.

  My hand, holding the comb, slowly lowered as I stared at the warbled glass window, thinking about being back in my apartment I’d shared with my abuela.

  What if I’d dodged all this? Been able to travel through time again?

  Gazing into Javier’s loving eyes yesterday morning, I was certain I’d been saved from a very bad decision—that I was meant to be right here, in this time, in his arms.

  But now? Take him out of the equation and I wondered just what kind of mad drug I’d swallowed. Yes, I loved him. Yes, I loved his family. But was it worth my life?

  I set my hands on either side of the basin and looked down at the water as if it might give me an answer. The captain’s last words echoed in my mind. Before I consider other ways I could capitalize on your unique…virtues.

  I’d seen enough documentaries on the sex trade in my own time to know what he might be hinting at. And yet it seemed to me that it was all part of some game for him, and he was using that threat to try and keep me in line. I was reasonably confident I could fight him off, if worse came to worst. But I could not fight off his whole crew. Even my Krav Maga instructor would have told me there’s a logical time to fight, as well as a logical time to flee. But where was I supposed to run when I was trapped on a ship sailing five miles from land?

  In all the pirate movies I’d seen, there was an air of play.

  But here? Now? This was nothing but a deadly game, and I didn’t feel I knew even half the rules.

  CHAPTER 6

  JAVIER

  It was dawn by the time I reached shore. By the time I’d run the twelve miles south, it was noon. Sweat dripped down my face and chest, drenching my shirt. But finally, finally, I’d reached Bonita Harbor.

  I stood there panting on the northern crest, surveying what remained. Happily, Captain Craig’s Heron no longer listed, her hull apparently patched and bilged. Crews were already working on taking down her damaged mainmast, and I could see mules hauling a straight new one onto the beach. We always kept a supply of ten or more, curing along the edges of the mountain forests high above; yet we only sold one or two a year. My brother’s thinking had been that in wartime, there might be a bigger need, and bigger needs equaled greater profits. To date, no wars had impacted Alta California’s shores or ships. We did, however, have occasional need like this…but usually the damage was wrought by storm, not attack.

  For the thousandth time, I considered what it would feel like to wrap my hands around Captain Mendoza’s neck. To squeeze it until he gasped and silently begged me for release. He deserved to suffer. After all he’d done, after all he’d killed, stolen?

  I would take him his gold. Get Mateo and Zara back.

  And then hunt him down again to deliver his own share of misery and grief.

  I was almost to the storehouse, and none of the men had yet caught sight of me, so intent were they upon their work. The empty storehouse again made my pulse quicken with rage, but I knew we could send a man to Santa Barbara to obtain what we needed until I could trade with the next supply ship that came through.

  Concentrate, Zara, I told myself. I needed a ship to get me to Monterey with the chests of gold, or horses, if no ships were fit to sail. I needed additional gold, which would have to be borrowed from Rafael. I needed men to accompany me, and weapons. And yet some of my best men had been killed in the attack, their weapons taken from their dead bodies.

  I edged around the storehouse and saw two villa guards—Hector and Rodrigo. Their eyes lit up and mouths dropped open. Hector recovered himself first. “Don Javier! Estas aqui! Estas a salvo!” You are here! You are safe!

  Word spread quickly, and in seconds I was surrounded by perhaps twenty men, all clapping me on the back and asking me questions in a rush. But it was Captain Craig, just arriving on shore via rowboat, that I turned toward first. I patted men on the shoulders and face and back as I passed them, thanking God that no more of my friends had perished in the attack.

  Captain Craig rushed forward and embraced me, then held me away from him at arm’s length, as if trying to ascertain if I was but a mirage in the desert. “My friend, my friend. Where have you been?”

  “Taken by the pirates, along with Señorita Zara and Mateo.”

  He nodded and dropped his hands, face grim, then looked over my shoulder, as if hoping to spot them on the bluff behind me.

  I shook my head and rubbed my aching neck. “The pirate set me to rowing late last night, and I made shore twelve miles north. I ran from there. But he kept Zara and Mateo.”

  “He is intent upon a ransom, then?” Craig said, taking my elbow and urging me away from the crowd so that we could speak frankly.

  “Indeed,” I said. “He demanded double what I paid the Mexican garrison in taxes during the rodeo.”

  Craig’s hazel eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in consternation. “How would he have known what was paid to Mexico if Cruz himself didn’t tell him?”

  I shook my head and let out a deep breath. I wasn’t yet ready to believe that Cruz could betray me in that way. As much as I despised him, he was still my fellow countryman.

  “There were likely many who witnessed those greedy bottom-feeders pilfering your hard-earned gold, who could’ve informed the pirate,” Craig allowed, pinching his chin and staring out to sea, thinking. “But I’ll tell you this: we haven’t seen a blackcoat yet on the rancho, even though we sent a rider to town last night to inform the authorities of the attack.”

  I frowned and clenched my fists. This was but one more reason for my blood to boil. Captain de la Cruz or Lieutenant Gutierrez had not bothered to come and take a report, check on my mother, my sisters? When an attack had been made upon Mexican land, her people killed, her property stolen, and others kidnapped?

  Craig lifted one eyebrow and his hands, leani
ng forward from the hip. I was grateful he said nothing more, though he clearly wanted to. It was like salt on a fresh wound, this latest injury from my own homeland and its representatives.

  “There hasn’t been a pirate attack here in years,” I said, pacing away, running my hand through my sweat-soaked hair. “Not since those men attacked the missions back in ’18, pillaging them for altar valuables.”

  Craig nodded in agreement, arms now folded, watching me. “I know.”

  “And yet this, this,” I said, waving back across my beach, still blood-soaked where my men had died, “was not enough for them to ride out and observe for themselves? When Mexican citizens perished?”

  Craig kicked at the sand with his boot. “To those of the presidio, your men were but Indians. Servants. Perhaps they do not consider them Mexican citizens?”

  I frowned. “They were employed by a Mexican citizen,” I ground out, bringing my fist to my chest. “A citizen who recently paid more than his fair share of taxes.”

  Craig crossed his arms, bit his lips, and ducked his head, as if reluctant to report what he had to say next. “Your messenger. He said the garrison door was open, and the men were…incapacitated.”

  I froze and then shook my head in disgust, moving to stand beside him, looking out to sea, thinking, thinking. The men were drunk. Likely, they’d done what I most feared and merely distributed my gold among themselves, to spend on wine and women. I ran a hand through my hair again. Why? Why did I remain loyal to the mother country when her representatives were so despicable?

  I took another long, deep breath and let it out slowly. It mattered not. Clearly I could not depend on the soldiers to help me restore order. It would have to be up to us. As it had always been, no matter how much I hoped it would someday be different.

  I turned back to Craig. “How soon until the Heron is seaworthy?”

  The captain glanced out toward his ship. “Three days. Maybe four. But no later.” He shrugged and looked uncharacteristically weak. “And yet the pirates stole every crate and barrel from my hold. I have no idea how I shall pay my crew, let alone obtain any further cargo.”