Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “Who let you out?” Valeryn said.

  Fraco slowly blinked, indulging in taking his time to answer. “No one.”

  “No one, eh?” And now he was a liar.

  In a ship bursting with his countrymen, any one of them could have felt compelled to help Fraco. But would they risk a pirate’s wrath? ’Twas possible. Yet there was someone else more likely the culprit.

  “Henri, fetch Miss Montoya and her maid.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  Fraco’s grin as he watched Henri toddle from the cabin reminded Valeryn of a lad he once knew in his youth. In fact, everything about Montoya’s over-confident attitude brought back some painful memories of Towney. Memories Valeryn kept buried deep.

  “Your arrogance is astounding.”

  Fraco turned back and shrugged. “’Tis not arrogance when it is your right to govern others in all aspects of their lives.”

  “To serve you?” Valeryn slouched back into his chair.

  “At times. There are those in this world that without serving others would have nothing, no reason for existing.”

  “Unless they are shown another way,” Valeryn said. “’Tis foolish to subscribe to either side of the coin. To believe you own people, to believe you are owned.”

  “’Tis the way it has always been.”

  “For many, aye.” This Valeryn could not deny.

  “For most. The flock who pray at the feet of a priest, the poor who beg for alms, the shopkeeper dependent upon the customer, even the soldado, the soldier, they all serve someone. Owned.”

  “I serve no one.”

  “Don’t you? Isn’t it the very reason you are here?”

  Valeryn snorted. Sod that. Didn’t matter that the cur was right. Valeryn would never admit to it.

  Back to the matter at hand. “Who let you out, Montoya?”

  Fraco cocked his head to the side, a haughty tilt to his lips. He ignored the question entirely. “I am merely reminding you, Capitán, of your place.”

  A sour, burning laugh burst from Valeryn’s throat. “My place? We are in the middle of the Caribbean. My home. My kingdom.” Anger at Fraco’s audacity boiled over. He leaned forward, bitterness on his tongue. “Tell me, boy, where is your place here?” He delivered his vilifying words with well-honed skill. “At the bottom of the sea? Skin blistering on the jib? Quartered and chumming portside as we catch our next dinner?”

  A quick rap on the door and Henri flung it open, allowing Miss Montoya to enter. She held her hands in front of her, prim and proper.

  More often, Valeryn found a woman’s seemliness as genuine as a fawney rig. But although back her was stiff, which did wonders for those colossal breasts, Valeryn noted the reluctance for formality. A bird trapped in a cage. A dark angel in her pale green dress summoning him with visions of passion warming his groin. That was Catalina. Until Nalda stepped from behind her, cooling his lust.

  “Here they be,” Henri announced.

  Valeryn did not rise. Nor did he offer them a chair. Not this time.

  “Evening to you, ladies,” he said. “I see neither of you are surprised to see Fraco at my table.”

  “I am never surprised by the company men keep,” Catalina said. She dipped her head in admittance, but Nalda launched warning torches at Valeryn.

  “I would expect not, since your ladyship was the one who let him out of the bilge.”

  She unlatched her clasped hands and glanced at her cousin. Her mouth opened as if to deny the accusation. Instead, her jaw worked back and forth before her gaze darted to Valeryn. “How would I know where to find him?”

  “In a ship full of Spanish sailors? Surely you’d find the way.”

  “Surely,” mocked Fraco.

  “I did no such thing,” she snipped.

  Lying. A family affair. “Lying to the captain and releasing a mutinous prisoner, they are serious offenses.”

  “I’ve committed no offense.”

  “Nalda, then?”

  Fraco chuckled. His expression mimicked the ridiculousness of the notion.

  Valeryn was past Fraco’s interruptions. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension bunching up in his muscles. “Cocklyn, you and Henri take Montoya back to the bilge. Make sure the damn lock is secure and bring me the bloody key.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.” Cocklyn yanked Fraco by the arm out of his seat. And the bastard still smiled.

  “Oh, and Henri. See Señora Nalda back to her cabin, as well. I will speak to Miss Montoya alone.”

  Henri exaggerated an eye roll and soon only Catalina was left in his cabin.

  Finally, a chance to be alone with the Spanish beauty. She stood stoically, rooted to her spot and ready for battle.

  Valeryn took his time drinking her in. Like swilling the richest rum, he savored her—the waves of her hair pinned atop her head, black ringlets tumbling upon her shoulders and atop her well-rounded chest, her dress in shades of green complimenting her sun-bronzed skin, the delicate curves of her waist and hips, even the tips of her slippers peeking from beneath her skirts. Delicious.

  To his amazement, Catalina didn’t seem bothered with his scrutiny. This only prodded him to take her comfort as a challenge.

  Valeryn stood and strolled around the table. “Rations are too few to allow an insubordinate passenger to blatantly squander it away. Someone must be held accountable for letting him out of imprisonment. Otherwise the democracy of the crew breaks down.”

  He stopped directly in front of her and looked down into her bottomless dark eyes. Damned if he could fight his desires for the woman.

  “I understand,” she said.

  “You are the one I hold accountable.”

  “I admit to no guilt.” Her words were thick, breathy, like warm honeyed rum. Comparisons to his favorite drink were startling and appropriate in every sense.

  “But you’ll take punishment.” He recited the unspoken words clear in her gaze she refused to unlock from his.

  “What will be such?”

  “Lashings.”

  Not even so much as a flinch. The doxy played his game...again.

  “By your hand?”

  “In this case, aye.”

  “A bit barbaric, don’t you think?”

  “Not when handled properly.”

  “You’ll mar my skin.”

  “Nay. At least not permanently.”

  “Not where anyone would see?” she implored from under coy lashes.

  “Nay, lass.” Were they talking about the same thing?

  He imagined Catalina’s wrists tied, arms spread out, naked and flawless back, heaving. Heaven help him, he could almost hear her cry out. Cries of passion, not pain.

  Gone was her modest demeanor. Heralded out by a saucy arch of her brow. “While I am innocent, I will accept punishment. Under these terms, if you please.”

  She toyed where she shouldn’t. Valeryn couldn’t be responsible for what he might do. Hell, what he would do.

  He snatched her by the waist and pulled her flush to his body. Her tiny hands splayed across his chest. An unprepared breath escaped her parted lips. But she did not fight to break free from his hold. He nearly whimpered as bountiful breasts pressed against him. A lesser man might break out into a joyous hymn. He struggled to contain a song bubbling forth.

  An expression he oft heard said chanted within his irrational mind. Take all that I may. A pirate was he. A pirate was all he would ever be.

  “You should struggle.” The words were chunky on his tongue. “Struggle and I will let you go.”

  Large mahogany eyes dropped to his mouth. “No.”

  Lay me bleeding! ’Tis a pirate’s life for me.

  Valeryn crushed his mouth to hers, hard and desperate. She responded by grabbing fistfuls of his tunic, meeting him with equal valor.

  The embers of lust exploded into a mighty fire. His kiss deepened, his tongue demanding entrance, which she readily gave. Christ, Catalina matched him, every taste and stroke, their tongues inter
twined in an urgent dance to claim one another.

  Valeryn’s thoughts blurred, his body alit. He had to have more. He plunged his hand into her hair and yanked, exposing the flesh of her throat. Tangy. Sweet. Devouring her intoxicated him like nothing he’d ever tasted before.

  “Are you?” He had to know.

  Her eyes fluttered open as she tried to peer at him. “Am I what?”

  “Innocent?”

  Slowly, she shook her head once.

  No? This lovely angel? The room lost all air. Nothing of their surroundings remained. Nothing but her warm body fitted against his. His mind lost function. Numb to all thoughts but to consume her, kissing a path down to her glorious mounds wildly rising and falling.

  A feminine moan escaped. Her hands had somehow wrapped around to his back, her fingers digging into his shoulders, kneading at his scars.

  More. He needed more. He reached up between their bodies and grabbed the front of her bodice. The lacy trim tickling his rough palm and the heat of flesh was a heady mixture. Take all.

  “Capt’n.”

  The door swung open.

  Air rushed back, the cabin reappeared, and Catalina’s heat vanished as she stumbled away. The angel swiped at her lips and smoothed out her unwrinkled dressed that, sadly, Valeryn had not had a chance to rumple.

  “Damn it, Henri!”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon.” Henri spun to face the opposite wall, pretending he witnessed nothing. “’Pologies.”

  Valeryn squeezed his eyes shut. Killing Henri would only ruin the moment more so. “How many times,” he ground out, “have I asked you not to barge into my cabin.”

  “Ya don’t want me ta barge in,” Henri groused, “use the damn lock.”

  “I must go.” Catalina hurried for the door.

  Henri bowed his scruffy head, embarrassed as she, as the lass passed.

  “Miss Montoya.” Catalina stopped at the threshold at Valeryn’s voice. “Stay out of the bilge.”

  With that, she was gone.

  And so was his stiff jack.

  CHAPTER 7

  Valeryn shoved the full mug to Henri across his the table. Oh, what the hell. He pushed the entire bottle that way, too. The old sea dog earned it, if anything, for putting up with Valeryn’s insanity. ’Twas going to be another long night of drinking.

  “What did ya bring me, mate,” he asked.

  “You were right, ya were.” Henri tossed a pouch to the middle of the wooden table. The glorious sound of coins, many coins, clinked together. “The bugger had stowed it in a shoe hidden in a compartment of his case.”

  It made sense Fraco would have the coins. Money had a strong appeal of persuasion. Fraco liked to persuade. ’Twas just another form of control.

  However, it did not go unnoticed the alcalde stocked the ship with just enough provisions for a one-way trip. Was it underestimation or was it done on purpose?

  Valeryn could kick himself for not thoroughly checking the stores before disembarking Matanzas. But it hardly mattered now with all their food and water seized by Captain Nicholls.

  He scooped up the dingy, gray pouch. “Good weight.” He loosened the drawstring and looked inside. Pieces of eight, castellano, reales, and doubloons. Splendid. “This will be more than enough to replenish our stores. Fine job, Henri.”

  Henri threw back his cup and swiped the dribble from his whiskered mouth with his sleeve. “And get me an extra bottle of bumbo, eh?”

  “Aye.” Valeryn chuckled. “For your troubles, mate.”

  “Ain’t trouble so long as I get me my rum,” he said, pouring himself another mug. “Oh. Almost fergot.” Henri dug into his vest pocket and flicked something metal which Valeryn caught it midair.

  “A shoe buckle?”

  “Got ’bout half a dozen of ’em also hidden in the shoe. Strange codfish. Got a lot o’ shoes. More than any fella I know.”

  “The man is given to incomparable foppishness.” Valeryn twisted the buckle between his fingers. ’Twas a fine piece of craftsmanship, gold, but lightweight. Still, he failed to see why Montoya would collect them. Even less so why he would bring them along.

  “Boys be restless,” Henri said. “Broke up another fight this evenin’. They be starvin’ and none too happy with ya.”

  “I suppose not.” He was less worried about the ragtag crew than his fairer passengers. They’d been fortunate enough to catch a couple of turtles. ’Twas by far not enough to fill empty bellies of the entire ship. He’d made sure Catalina and Nalda were nourished. But everyone on board suffered from starvation. He knew all too well how a man might be driven mad by the merciless grip of hunger pangs.

  “Tell them a fine evenin’ awaits them when we reach Cow Island. Pig and wine to swill it down with. And a few hours with Julia’s Le Jardin girls.” Valeryn jangled the bag, should Henri need more clarification. Which was doubtful. “I will keep my promise and reward them for their loyalty.”

  A snaggle-toothed grin beamed upon Henri’s face. “To loyalty,” he toasted.

  Valeryn lifted his mug. “To Montoya’s purse.”

  A glass later, Henri took his leave. Valeryn sat on the edge of his bed—half-empty bottle of rum in one hand, the cup he finished a moment before in the other. He leaned back against the bulkhead.

  It’d been three bloody nights since his encounter with Catalina. And he could still feel the sear in her kiss upon his lips. What madness! She’d made it hard to sleep. Not that he’d done much of it before. For months the only real sleep he got was after drinking himself into a barrel fever. Losing a good friend to a vile ruffler and his woman to another man was best dealt with at the bottom of a bottle.

  But instead of ghosts keeping him awake, ’twas the beguiling eyes of a lioness—her scent, her sighs, her taste, her tainted innocence. He wanted to drive himself deep inside her. That was not all. She bewitched him. Somehow.

  A vaguely familiar need had resurfaced. Valeryn wanted to know Catalina. What made her happy? What did she fear? What did she dream? What were her secrets? These questions rooted in what he could do for her. That rattled him. He’d only felt that strongly once before, long ago. And Joelle had moved on.

  Perhaps this folly of emotion was a result of that. The aftermath of having his heart broken. Catalina was merely the distraction he needed to heal. A damned good distraction. He’d have to be careful to remember it. Not fall into that trap. Whether it was to protect himself or for his contract with Alvaro Montoya, she was forbidden fruit.

  A guttural bellow erupted deep from within and he threw the empty mug across the cabin. The stoneware tankard crashed against a wooden trunk. Large shards littered the floor. Valeryn stared at the jagged pieces and dryly chuckled. Just like my miserable life—broken and useless.

  With a quick breath, Valeryn blew out the single candle on the sconce. Upturning the rum bottle, he swallowed the rest of the elixir. He no longer felt the burn sliding down his throat. Nor did he feel the flattened down of the pillow beneath his head as he lay down and closed his eyes. Good. The bottle slipped from his fingers, thudding and rolling across the floor. He succumbed to the unconsciousness of sleep.

  Valeryn jerked awake. Instinctively, he reached for the pistol he’d begun leaving under his pillow since sailing the Amalia and aimed at the dark. His instinct was true. Someone was in the room. In the shadows. Not even the light from the sliver of moon shining through the window reached the intruder. But he was there. As sure as he breathed, he was there.

  Valeryn was certain the cabin door was locked. After the incident with Henri walking in on him and Catalina, Valeryn had checked it after the old clam left earlier in the evening. So how did this prowler get in, and would he survive getting out? Valeryn was ready to see that he didn’t.

  His vision adjusted and focused on the outline of the visitor in a chair at the table. “Announce yourself, lest you want a ball in your meat.”

  A bright flash from a tinderbox lit a flame, the flame caught on the wick of a singl
e candle. “That won’t be necessary, Capitán.”

  What the devil—Montoya. “How did you get in here?” Valeryn kept the gun trained on Fraco and sat up. His boots he hadn’t bothered to remove clomped on the floor.

  “That is no es importante.” He tapped the silver box upon the table with his knotted twisted hand and crossed his ankle over his knee. Far too casual for a man with a flintlock aimed at his chest.

  “To trespass into a pirate’s personal quarters is important, unless the forfeiture of your insignificant life is unimportant.”

  Fraco shrugged as if surrendering and apologetic for the inconvenience of his coming message. “I am reminding you that you are capitán of this ship, nothing more. I am the administration of this journey. The alcalde sent me to oversee Catalina’s quest—as ridiculous as it may be—to ensure you adhere to the agreement.”

  “That is a grand, terrific design you’ve made of yourself.” Astounding that Fraco believed it. Perhaps ’twas his start from sleep, but Valeryn was also annoyed by his obnoxious slight against Catalina’s ambitions. His trigger finger was getting itchy. “But you haven’t answered my question. How did you get in here? Who let you out of the bilge?”

  “You, an English pirate, can’t lead a ship full of Spaniards.”

  Valeryn reviled the insult. “You feel you are more qualified?”

  “To think my father would have a dead man be in charge is preposterous.”

  “Yet, that he did.”

  “Of the ship,” Fraco corrected. “But not of the decisions onto this mission.”

  “’Tis a mission, now.” Valeryn would be somewhat amused by the lad’s assessment had it been under different circumstances. As it was, he was still quite enraged by Montoya’s bold moves.

  “Of course. If Catalina can improve my father’s relations with the crown—”

  “Then your relations improve. Despite your deformity.”