Fascinating how his demeanor remained calm, even as the conversation was thick with slurs. She should remember this for future dealings with her tio.
Señor Hébert opened his palms as such atrocities were merely fact. Indeed they were. “My duty is to make this port an outpost. Safe from the haunting of pirates.”
“A duty you take seriously, I imagine.” The captain flexed and unflexed his fist visible on the table.
“I do. But I am also a gentleman.” He gestured to the near empty trenchard. “Please, finish your meal. Enjoy the ale. But come sunset, you and your ship will be sailing out of my port.”
Hébert’s menacing men rose from their seats, ready to spill blood.
“A threat, eh?”
“I prefer not to call it a threat, but rather, an opportunity to save yourself,” he paused, his gaze dropping to Catalina. Not to her face, but to her presence, “and your companions from a troublesome fate.”
“Duly noted.” Was that…amusement she heard in his tone? “I shall not sully your port any longer than necessary.”
“Very good, very good.” Hébert nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “Your meal, do not concern yourself with the cost. It will be gratuit. No charge.”
“Mademoiselle,” he said, acknowledging Catalina for the first time.
The tension in the air evaporated with the exit of Señor Hébert and his cohorts. Only then did Catalina realize the rapid beat of her heart. “Perhaps we should go now.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “We are not done here.”
“But what of Señor Hébert’s warning?”
“Useless blubber through his blowhole. We were to set sail tonight, anyway.” As easily as he pushed aside the unexpected interruption, he pushed aside his empty dish. “Tell me about how you became a naturalist.”
Her heart flipped. He called her a naturalist. And he didn’t use the placating or disparaging tone so many others had used when they addresses the topic. Did she just slip a little farther for him?
“My papá always said I was like the barn cat—curious about my surroundings, enough to get me into trouble, but wary of people. I’d spend hours outdoors watching the caterpillars crawl across rocks, draw pictures of growing seedlings in the gardens, take notes of the direction moss grew. I once even helped deliver a calf.” She dryly chuckled. “My mother suffered from the vapors when I walked inside covered in dirt and blood.”
“So your mother didn’t like you getting dirty?”
“No. Just as Fraco said, a woman has a place among men. Coming from a simple family, she fought very hard to be respected among the society women. Anything I did reflected upon her. I tried to be the good daughter. But I was too much like my father, or so she said. Too bull-headed, too distracted from conformity. She would get very angry, scolding me, and adding more to my studies. I must be and act like a lady at all times. Otherwise I would never attract the eye of an aristocrat.” She stared at him for his reaction. Nothing. He was simply listening.
“You must have been miserable.” He said it as if the very thought of discipline made him shudder.
“She meant well. She wanted a better life for me.”
He slid down into his seat, and propped his ankle across his knee. With one elbow on the table, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, studying her. Repose looked sinfully good on him. “Did she? Or did she want a better life for herself.”
“Both, I suppose.” It saddened Catalina. She knew beneath her mother’s aloof, hard, prim exterior, she loved her daughter. But societal expectations and Catalina’s strong-willed dreams created a rift that could not be bridged. “I don’t fault her for it. We are casualties of our need to be accepted by our peers.”
He looked past her with an empty gaze. “Sometimes expectations are impossible to meet.” His words bit with resentment. Had he let someone down, too?
Catalina sought to lighten the mood. “After birthing the calf, my mother sprung into action and added extra needlepoint classes for me.” Another airy chuckle. “She was none too pleased by my needlepoint of a belladonna, the deadly nightshade plant.”
He, too, laughed. Success!
“Belladonna. I like that. Suits you. That must have vexed her a great deal.”
“Oh, yes.” She smirked. Not just at the memory, but for how she amused him.
“More classes?”
She nodded as she took a sip of her water. “She decided I needed to increase my lessons in the English language. ’Twas her biggest mistake.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The captain leaned back into his chair as the serving wench brought yet another mug of ale. He pointed to her cup, but she shook her head, not needing more water. “Your accent intrigues me. And, well, I enjoy talking with you.”
She warmed at that. They shared a mutual feeling.
“’Twasn’t the lessons that were a mistake. ’Twas the teacher.”
Simeon Crane stared back at Catalina in her mind. Scholarly crinkles fanned out from his clear, knowing eyes. His light brown hair peppered with streaks of gray at his temples was pulled back with a white queue. He kept his beard trimmed very short, framing his thin lips—lips slightly slanted upward in a pleasant smile for her each time she pronounced a word correctly. Well respected in his field, and among the circles of aristocracy…at the time.
“He seems to have done a fine job instructing you.”
“Sí. In many ways.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished to recall them.
His brow shot up. “Oh?”
Damn. “He introduced me to the love of science, and how to express my observations of the world around me in words.”
“Words,” he repeated. He seemed to drift, then, a grim slant to his mouth.
“Sim— Señor Crane was the most intelligent man I ever met. He encouraged me to think, to analyze, to ask questions, to debate.”
Captain Barone slowly nodded. “But he was to teach you English.”
Oh Lord, he had that look. The one she saw on every face in the crowds of Barcelona the last few weeks she was there, after Simeon was gone. The one of judgment. Oh, how lonely she had been. With her father commissioned away, her mother shunning her, and her friends turning their backs to gossip and stir the bubbling pot of scandal, she had no one. No one to talk to, no one to cry to. ’Twas a reprieve to have been shipped to Tio Alvaro in Cuba. Mostly. “What better way to learn than by reading the periodicals,” she said. “By nature, periodicals from front to back are full of controversy meant to fan the flames of free-thinking.”
“And you broke the rules by expressing free-thinking?”
“You could say.” It was as much a part of the reason she was expelled from her household as… She couldn’t bear to think more of it, lest she reveal too much. ’Twasn’t the captain’s business to know that part of her. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to reveal her pain.
“I like that.” He flattened her arm to the table and leaned closer. “Free-thinking promotes democracy. Democracy is the foundation of the pirate code.”
She tilted her chin sideways and grinned ever-so slightly. “Are you saying I could be a pirate, Capitán Barone?”
“With a little help,” he teased. “Valeryn.”
“Perdón?”
“My name is Valeryn.”
“Catalina, if you please. But wouldn’t my calling you by your given name lessen your authority?”
“Of course you would address me as captain in front of my men. As I would address you as Miss Montoya. Make no mistake, I am captain. I am authority.”
He was establishing boundaries. Just as Simeon did.
“And I still have a matter of punishment to carry out.”
His words were layered in rich tones that warmed her insides. She knew without a doubt any such aggression doled out by him would be one of pleasure. How she knew, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was in the sheer domineering, yet passionate kisses. She wanted to kiss him again, badly. “Do pirates often fa
ce your punishments? I ask should my interest in piracy grow, which it irrefutably will.”
“Not many face my wrath and survive.” Playful, but deadly serious. She wasn’t so naïve to think he hadn’t killed many men. Yet, that should frighten her. Instead, it piqued her interest.
She pointed to the cuts on his face still healing. “Did the fellow who did that survive?”
“Barely.” His demeanor changed, darkened. Like walking through fog, she disrupted the calm. “Pirates are a vicious lot, Catalina.”
“I’m aware. I’ve heard the horrid tales.”
“Most are true,” he said. “Best you don’t let this journey color the truth.”
“I also heard how your brotherhood saved Havana from tyranny last year.”
“One or two honorable deeds does not erase the sins we are apt to commit.” All playfulness had evaporated. She hated that the conversation turned serious.
“I don’t believe that. Not for everyone, anyway.” She yearned to recapture his levity. “Besides, my interest is with one particular pirate. Will you show mercy?”
The darkness in his features shifted. “None, I’m afraid. The king is a thirsty man.”
Something unidentifiable within her clenched. Heat shot to her most personal parts of her body. And with one sentence. Blessed be! She was in deep. Perhaps too deep. But it did not matter. Her emotions would once again smother good sense. She never had a chance.
“Interesting cast of characters we play,” she said.
“’Tis not a play.”
“And yet we recite our parts and dance around each other with veiled words.”
“Makes for the dull workings of life more entertaining, true. But it is still real life.” He threw back the remnants of his mug.
What was his life? Who was Valeryn? “Tell me how you became a pirate.”
“Why would you want to know?”
She shrugged and waited to answer after the serving wench refilled his mug. No longer wanting water, Catalina requested she have a mug of the same. A small gesture to be more like a pirate. She didn’t really want to be a pirate. Just be with a pirate. Still, ’twould be a good show. “Curious, I suppose.”
“As a barn cat,” he reminded her, “certain to bring you trouble.”
“And you and I both know I will seek the knowledge until it is mine, no?”
That smile. She wished to harness it, use its power. For good. For sin. He was so robustly beautiful. She stifled a sigh. Intelligent, well-heeled ladies did not sigh.
“You will be disappointed. There is not much to tell.”
His gaze latched on the door. The pause had dragged on too long. Was he thinking of ending their time together? She wasn’t ready to return to the ship. She had to keep him talking.
“You don’t want me to start nagging. ’Twon’t be pretty.”
He chuckled, giving in to her. “I’m from Dover, the son of a fisherman. Fishing was our livelihood. I knew nothing else, except that I was not happy. I would look out across the gray, turbulent ocean waves and just know there was something more out there than hauling nets and scraping scales. Something more than living hand to mouth on the meager earnings and fish carcasses.”
“This I understand,” she said.
“I doubt that, lass.” A dry huff scraped out with his sneer.
“No, I mean I understand the dire need to discover what lay beyond your own nose.”
He relaxed the taut grim set of his jaw by a degree. “Yes, well… As a young man of no more than fifteen, I met a haggard bloke at a dock tavern. He bellied up beside me and placed a gold coin on the bar. I had never seen a coin so shiny. It gleamed. I asked him where he got it. For the rest of the evening, we got drunk and he told me of the pirate way—the adventures, the riches, the women. He’d had it all. I wanted it all. He was sailing out the next morning and there was no way I wasn’t going to be on that ship.”
“What about your family?” she asked.
“I loved my parents, but I couldn’t languish away as my father did. He was perfectly happy, but I couldn’t sentence myself to that mundane life. I longed for adventure.” He put his fist to his heart. “’Twas a pirate’s life for me.
“When I had glutted myself with all the sins a man could stew in, I returned home, determined to make sure my parents were not without.” A good memory shaped his lips. “I repaired the cottage, bought new nets, and a new dress for my mother. She’d pat my cheek and tell me what a good son I was.” He shook his head. “If she only knew.”
Was he lamenting, or amused? ’Twas hard to tell. But the rough edge in his jaw returned. “Where did she think you came by your money?”
“Sailing with the East India Company. ’Tisn’t much difference, if you ask me.”
She shrugged, certain she didn’t know.
“I shared my wealth with them,” he continued, “returning home every year. Until one year they were gone. Died from fever.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Death is inevitable.” He drained his mug and mumbled something about it not being strong enough.
“To your parents,” she toasted, and she, too, took a hearty drink. The bitter ale burned, lodging in her throat in one large lump. She choked, sputtered, and spewed the beer across the table, spraying spittle into Valeryn’s face.
Dios Madre!
He hardly flinched his eyes closed. Seconds, mortifying seconds, passed without any movement save the twitch in his jaw.
Frozen in place, she wished she would die. And she just might from humiliation.
Valeryn swiped his napkin down his face and opened his eyes. His fierce look chilled her blood. He was going to kill her. Catalina rattled off a jumbled, hasty string of Spanish apologies even she couldn’t understand.
A hand roughly clutched around her arm and tugged at her. A burly man with short spiky, straw-like hair, reddened cheeks, and pock-marked crooked nose sneered down at her, a cheroot between his gapped teeth. Startled, she tried to pull away, but ’twas futile. His arms were thick and round and she only managed to cause him to squeeze tighter.
“Ain’t no bunter gonna disrespect a man in my place. Ya want me ta take care of this wench for ya, Barone? Teach ’er real good ’bout respect.”
“A fair day to ya, Louis. Been some time since I’ve been through. You still going bare-knuckles?”
“Boxing is good for the soul,” he said, smiling. “Keeps me calm, ya see.”
“So can fishing, mate.”
“Ho, ho, fishin’ be too dull for the likes of me.”
Valeryn agreed with a nod. “Speak me of the tidings.”
Louis shook his head with a woeful sigh. “Ain’t the same ’round here since that fella Hébert showed up. Got folks worried, claimin’ land, propri’tor.”
“Aye, we made acquaintances.”
“Been taxin’ folks, too. I tell ya, he be paddin’ his coffer with how much he be expectin’.”
“That so.” Valeryn leaned over his arm, his brow squeezed together at the bothersome news.
Louis lowered his voice. “Ya ain’t got the money, his men pay ya a visit, if ya know what I mean.”
Valeryn’s narrowed left eye twitched with infuriation.
“Poor Maurice was laid up a week.”
“Maybe I should gather a few brothers to help this proprietor understand not to take advantage, that the folk here are good people.”
“Most, anyway,” said Louis, scrubbing his chin.
Valeryn fished coins from his pocket and flicked them to Louis, who caught the coins with his free hand.
“Ain’t to take yer money.”
“But you will. Put them away, mate.”
Louis nodded his thanks.
“Where’d this bloke come from? Is he really sent under a French charter?”
“Don’t know. Got ties to the Royal Navy.”
“A French proprietor and the Navy? That cannot be good.”
“Somethin’ is rotten, by ga
ds. And not just the smell of ’em.”
Together, the men chuckled at the jest.
“Take comfort,” Valeryn said. “The French and Brits don’t play nice together. Whatever the alliance Hébert has with the Navy, ’twill cave in upon him.”
“Nary too soon.”
“’Tis likely influence peddling. A little money here, a bout of intimidation there.”
Catalina was beside herself. Valeryn ignored her. He would prattle on in good conversation while this Louis rough-handled her? She had begun to lose feeling in her arm, her fingers numbing. No. She’d have none of it. “Capitán Barone,” she said, perhaps with too much force given her current situation. “Kindly have your friend remove his hand.”
“Spitting on the captain,” he said with an evil crook of his eyebrow, “is an offense with a punishable consequence.”
Was he teasing her again? Had he ever been? Oh, Dios, what had she done?
“Don’t look so scared, love.”
Louis yanked upon her. “Be glad ta rid ya of yer rubbish, Barone.”
Valeryn’s gaze didn’t waver, piercing her until she squirmed with uncertainty. “That won’t be necessary. The lady is in my charge. I will deal with her imprudence.”
“Perdónme, señor! In your charge?” She shot from her seat. Though Louis had not loosened his hold, he had not been prepared for her sudden rise. He yanked her to still. Did not matter. Her hot temper was squarely aimed on Valeryn. “I think not! It is you who belong—”
Valeryn laughed, waving at the stout man to let her go. “Enough, Catalina.”
“Got ya a fiery one, lad,” Louis said, a smug grin to him. “Real armful.”
“A true statement, I fear.” Valeryn had yet to look away.
She should feel uncomfortable, but instead, the weight of his stare spawned ripples of need through her, dissolving her ire. He branded her with just a look. She was falling victim…again. And as before, ’twas her fault, ’twas what she wanted. Because what Catalina wanted, Catalina got. No matter how much work it took, or how many manipulating reasons she came up with, or how much pleading, she would not stop. Not until it was hers.
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