“Senora Padilla. Your beauty exceeds anything these poor eyes have beheld in many weeks.”
"You flatter me, Senor Capitan," she said softly, smiling over the rim of her fan as she sank in a delicate curtsy. "And you honor us greatly with your presence."
The Spaniard kept hold of her hand as he looked around, inspecting the ship and crew, noting the cannon placements and the various calibers, which prompted Eva to lower the fan and lure his gaze to the wide expanse of bare, plumped flesh mounding over her bodice.
The ferret-like eyes feasted on the bounty for a moment before he murmured, "The honor is mine, I assure you. To that end, allow me to present a small gift in thanks for your gracious hospitality." He waved one of his men forward. In his arms was a large wooden crate holding six bottles packed in straw. "It is a refreshingly delicious wine from France, and it would please me greatly to have you enjoy it with our meal."
Eva dipped again and glanced at Dante, who smoothly suggested they all might move below out of the dampening evening air. Muertraigo assumed the role of escorting Eva to the large cabin that had been transformed into a formal dining room. The long trestle table was covered in dazzling white linen. Solid gold plates and tall gleaming candelabra glittered under a halo of beeswax candles. Cut glass goblets were quickly filled with the gifted wine and as the guests were seated, Eduardo and several of the other boys, all neatly dressed in crimson and gold striping, began bringing in trays of fruit and cheese and flat warm biscuits dripping with butter.
Conversation to that point had been polite and vacuous, discussing weather and sailing conditions but as Eva touched the wine glass to her lips, hoping to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth, Muertraigo leaned close and smiled.
"I am in despair to have to say I have been in Nueva Espanola many long years and have not had the pleasure of your acquaintance until now. Neither you nor your husband."
"Likely because we have come from my posting in Barranquilla," Dante said easily. "We were to join the flota in Havana before returning to Spain, but arrived too late." Knowing that Muertraigo’s keen eyes would have noted the fresh repairs on the upper deck, he added, "Bloody English pirates attempted to engage us but our guns quickly showed them the futility of such an endeavour.”
The Spaniard nodded and pursed his lips. “Ah, the English plague. They grow bolder each day and multiply like fleas on a dog. But perhaps it was fortuitous that you missed the rendezvous in Havana. You will have heard, no doubt, of the attack on the fleet?"
Dante set his wine glass down on the table and managed a suitably shocked expression. "The fleet was attacked? When? By whom?"
"English pirates. A massive attack involving dozens of ships, which must have required months of planning, for they swarmed like bees and ambushed all along the line. The chain of command was broken and most of the ships have been forced to return to Havana!"
Dante looked adequately stricken. "I had not heard this. Alvarez?" He looked at Rowly who had to choke down a slice of half-chewed pear before he could answer.
"Most shocking, indeed, senor capitan. One wonders who could have been so bold as to lead the cunning rogues in an attack against an entire fleet?"
Muertraigo took a sip of wine and swirled the rich red burgundy around the bowl of the goblet. "It is said... the Pirate Wolf himself was in command.”
“Surely not,” Gabriel protested. “We were told he fell afoul with cannibals and was roasted alive.”
Muertraigo laughed. “We could only wish such a fate on his entire pack of whores and bastards. Years ago,” he mused, still twirling his glass, “when I was first posted in Havana, I begged to be allowed to pursue the vermin, to hunt them down and rid these waters of them once and for all. I destroyed one, I could have destroyed them all.”
Gabriel arched an eyebrow. "You destroyed one? How so?"
"The bitch whore. The one they call the Black Swan. I holed her ship so many times there was nothing left of it but a shell. She limped away like a beaten dog with her tail between her whore legs. Unfortunately she survived, but I’m told she has only half an arm to remind herself of her defeat every day.”
Dante’s expression did not change by as much as a flicker. His smile remained fixed in place and his thumb continued to toy with the base of the wine goblet.
It was Eva whose heartbeat started to race like a snare drum. She sensed rather than saw the sudden tension that tightened the line of his jaw and turned the hard gleam in his eyes cold and deadly.
If this was a chess game, Dante had just been put in check. But instead of leaping to his feet and blasting a hole in Muertraigo’s chest, he raised his glass and tipped his head. "A toast to your skill then, Capitan. There are few who can say they have emerged victorious from an encounter with the Dante curs."
Muertraigo accepted the praise with solemn nod. "They are not as invincible as the rumors would make them out to be. Indeed, Havana was all abuzz with the news that one of the cubs had been captured. We have had no news of what became of him, but since he was taken by Don Cristobal Recalde, one must assume his flesh has been flayed from his bones and whatever was left has been crushed between the teeth of sharks by now."
Eva took a very deep swallow of wine. The gleam in Dante’s eyes had turned even colder, if that was possible, and she spoke hastily to draw Muertraigo’s attention away. "And you, Senor Capitan? Will you be returning to Spain soon?"
The Spaniard smiled at her breasts. "Alas no. My business interests keep me here. I served twelve years in the jungles of Nombre de Dios, another four in Havana, and now I find I have acquired a taste for the finer things in life."
“You are engaged in trade, then, Senor?”
“Trade… and adventure,” he said.
She leaned closer as if he was the most fascinating man she had ever met. “My husband tells me these islands are deserted and pestilent and he cannot wait until we are home again in Castile.”
He chuckled and waved a hand to have his glass refilled. "I assure you that even the bleakest of islands can hold many secrets and treasures, senora.”
“You are hunting treasure?”
“Treasure that has been guarded by ghosts for many decades,” he whispered against her ear.
As fast as Eva’s heart had been beating just moments before, it slowed to a sluggish thudding. “Now you tease me, Senor Capitan."
"I would only be teasing if I told you the greatest treasure in the Main was seated beside me. Ahh!" His leaned back and his eyes lit up as more platters were carried in, this time laden with slabs of roasted pork, a haunch of beef, and capons smothered in herbs. He selected the most tender cuts of meat and served them to Eva then heaped his own plate full. To anyone observing, which Dante most certainly was, Muertraigo had undoubtedly decided which treasure he intended to pillage first.
~~
Eva tolerated the oily attentions of the Spaniard as long as she could before deciding she’d more than fulfilled her obligation to Dante. Muertraigo’s dark eyes had stripped and ravished her countless times, leaving her feeling naked and dirty and disgusted. His thigh had brushed up against hers under the table and his hand constantly strayed to touch a shoulder or an arm.
Contrary to his promise, Gabriel did not come to her rescue once. Not once. And as her irritation and frustration grew toward Muertraigo, similarly her anger and annoyance toward Dante started to show openly in the heated glances she cast his way. Each time she did, he responded the way an indifferent husband might respond: with a crooked little smile and a call for more wine in his glass, which was refilled so many times she thought it a wonder he could remain sitting upright.
The call for rum and pipes did not come a moment too soon. Eva excused herself and retreated to the adjoining cabin, making sure to slide the bolt and lock the door behind her. Next, she placed Dante’s two pistols within easy reach, ensuring both were primed and loaded.
Only then did she pour herself a glass of wine and try to calm her thoughts
enough to make sense of everything she had heard through the evening. Though she had tried to steer the conversation back several times to the hunt for treasure, Muertraigo had avoided giving any more details. Several times she had pressed her hand over her breast feeling the solid presence of the locket beneath the bodice. It was the lost treasure of the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio he was hunting, she was sure of it. Dante had said that rumors spread like wildfire around the islands and pirate encampments, and if someone had overheard the captain of the Eliza Jane asking questions about the ship or about her father, it was possible the sharks were, indeed, in the water.
She had ached to question Muertraigo outright about the treasure ship, and had hoped Dante might have shown some interest, but he hadn’t. And while she could understand why his thoughts were occupied elsewhere, the resentment kept her pacing from one side of the cabin to the other, stopping only when she heard them laughing—laughing, for pity sake!—before her pacing resumed.
Another full hour passed before she heard voices and footsteps out in the companionway marking the departure of the unwanted guests. As quietly as she could, she unlocked the door and risked a peek through the gap, in time to see the last of the Spanish officers being followed up the ladderway by Dante's men. She breathed a silent ‘good riddance’. The heavy silk overskirt she’d been dragging back and forth across the cabin started to feel as if it weighed a thousand pounds and, after some minor struggling she managed to unfasten it along with the puffed sleeves and the golden underskirt.
Feeling like a bird in a cage, she loosened the waist of the wire farthingale, letting the graduated hoops collapse into themselves as she lowered it and stepped clear. Regardless of what contortions she tried however, she could not reach all of the hooks and eyes or release the lacings up the back of the bodice.
Several curses, whimpers, and another glass of wine saw her sprawling down crosswise over the bed to rest for a few moments, but not before she fetched one of Dante's pistols off the desk and slid it under the bolster pillow.
~~
It had required all of Gabriel's considerable willpower not to walk up behind Estevan Muertraigo, yank his head back by the greasy locks of his hair, and run a dagger across his throat. Dante's blood had pounded savagely each time he looked at the sly, grinning face across the dining table. He had been only dimly aware of the inane conversations swirling around him. Some that were specifically directed toward him he had managed to acknowledge, but for the most part he heard very little, and saw only his mother being carried ashore at Pigeon Cay, her arm gone, the stump wrapped in bloody bandages. Isabeau Dante had lain in a fever for days, hovering between life and death, and Gabriel had never seen his father so torn apart. The strongest man he knew had been reduced to utter helplessness, and the bastard who had caused it was sitting less than a table’s width away.
Throughout the meal Dante had envisioned ways of exacting revenge. His grandfather's favorite method had been to strap the offender to the barrel of a cannon and blow him in half. His brother Jonas preferred the slower method of tying a bleeding man to a cable and towing him behind the ship, letting the sharks tear him apart. Gabriel saw merit in both methods where Muertraigo was concerned. He thought about throwing the bastard in irons and dropping him into the hold, but there were still four galleons out there, three with open gunports and orders, no doubt, to open fire at the first sign of trouble. Unless he could find a way to lower the odds against him, he had no choice but to let the Spaniard return to his ship unmolested.
He stood on deck and watched the longboat being rowed back to the San Mateo. To his further disgust, the wind had fallen off completely and the sea stretched out like silvered glass under a brightly moonlit sky. The three galleons sat in a semi-circle, their decks strung with enough lamps and lanterns to present temptingly bright targets for his gunners, but he knew it would be sheer madness to open fire now.
The fourth ship was running dark, sitting out there somewhere, maintaining its distance. For what reason, Dante had no idea, but he didn't like it. He didn't like the whole situation but there was not much he could do about it at the moment, with no wind and no way to maneuver. He took some small comfort in knowing his disadvantages were also their disadvantages.
"Are you detecting a stench in the air?" he asked Stubs quietly.
"Aye-yup. Smelled it the instant they set foot on deck. Stopped shy of usin' their fingers and toes to count the number of big guns we're carryin' and the number of men we have to crew 'em. Do ye think he believed ye were a bored grandee returning home to Spain?”
“I think he believed me as much as I believed him.”
Dante's gaze went again to the western horizon where the island of Espiritu Santu was crouched, silent and dark. The hostile shoreline was barren and rocky. The soil was made of coral and limestone and too sour to grow any kind of crops—which was why no countries fought over it for possession and no twinkling lights to indicate any villages or ports.
There were two deep water bights dividing the chain of islands into three main sections. The northern mass was the largest, riddled with inland lakes and dense forests. The middle section was comprised of dozens upon dozens of atolls and cays divided by a myriad misleading inlets and estuaries that ended in a jumble of jagged rock or worse, shallow sandbars and swamps that could suck the hull of a ship into a trap from which it was impossible to break free. The southern bight was the narrowest of the two, the approach protected by a solid coral reef.
There were few beaches, no natural harbors with deep anchorage, and what bays there were had to be entered with care to avoid being hulled by either rocks or coral.
He had thought earlier, if this was, in fact, the final resting place of the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio, it could take another twenty years of searching all of the inlets and gorges to find the wreckage.
"I assure you that even the bleakest of islands can hold many secrets and treasures, senora.” Muertraigo had whispered.
“You are hunting treasure?” Eva had asked.
“Treasure that has been guarded by ghosts for many decades.”
Dante stared at the island. Espiritu Santu, the island of spirits… ghosts… ghost ships…
“Not possible,” he muttered to himself.
His gaze shifted to the three galleons. That Muertraigo had joined the hunt to find La Fantasma would be a co-incidence to end all co-incidences…and yet… the passengers on board the Santa Maria had been carrying personal letters hinting that the search for the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio had resumed. It was not impossible for every pirate on the Main to have heard those same rumors. But why the hell was Muertraigo here, off the coast of Espiritu Santu? Why was he not looking a hundred miles to the north, where all of the other searches had been conducted?
Dante hated riddles even more than he hated coincidences. He growled low in his throat and turned to Stubs. “Double the watch. I want to know if any of those ships move by so much as a nose hair.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
He pushed away from the rail and tugged at the buttons on the ill-fitting doublet as he walked, uncaring that some popped off the threads and pinged across the planking. He entered the dimly lit cabin and shut the door behind him, scowling when nearly tripped and fell headlong over the heap of Eva's discarded farthingale and heavy overskirt. After kicking both savagely out of the way, he headed directly to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of rum.
Turning as he held the silver rim to his lips, he noted the screen was still standing across the corner of the cabin. A single lamp was burning in a wall sconce, the wick turned low. Eva’s dark shape was sprawled sideways across the bed, her arms stretched above her head, feet hanging off the side. She was face down, covered in the yellow tangle of her own hair.
Gabriel walked to the end of the bed. From the waist down Eva was clad in the loose white underskirt; from the waist up she was still laced into the armor-stiff bodice and stomacher—laces he admittedly had fastened tighter than w
arranted. For a moment he debated leaving her like that. He was beginning to believe along with the rest of the crew, that he had brought a damned jinx on board. They would have been well through the Channel by now if they had not stopped to investigate the Eliza Jane. They would have sailed on past Espiritu Santu like they had done a hundred times, blissfully ignorant of lost treasure ships and missing one-eyed adventurers. Moreover, they would have avoided any contact with Estevan Muertraigo.
And he might never have known who was responsible for taking his mother’s arm and almost her life.
Gabriel took another swallow of rum, savoring the rush as it flowed through his belly and limbs.
He set his cup aside and leaned, with one knee sinking into the bedding, to release the hooks and eyes on the rose silk bodice. He had to move her hair to do so and his fingers lingered briefly in the silky mass, watching the lamplight glimmer off the smooth waves.
When he was almost finished loosening the laces on the stomacher, the stiffened edges sprang open and he heard her suck at a deep breath. The sudden ability to do so brought her instantly awake and, startled to feel hands tugging at her clothing, she scrambled onto her side, then to her knees, the long snout of a flintlock pistol aimed squarely at Dante's chest.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gabriel held his hands high and wide apart. “Hold up there. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought you needed some help getting undressed.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“I meant… help with the laces.”
Eva wiped a hand across her eyes to chase away the fog of sleep. “I am perfectly capable of undressing myself, sir.”
“Yes.” He looked down to where the linen sheath had been twisted up almost to her waist, baring her hip and thigh. “I can see that.”
She followed his gaze and hastily tugged the hem down to cover herself. In doing so the loosened bodice gaped open, revealing the firm little swells of her breasts. The chemise had become molded tight around her flesh like a second layer of skin and was rendered almost transparent by body heat, not leaving much to the imagination.
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