Captive Secrets

by Fern Michaels

  “Oh. And why is that, Señor Domingo?” Fury asked coolly.

  “You were merely pretty then. Tonight you are ravishing.” He pressed her hand once, lingeringly, then let it go. “Then you were but a sweet child; now you are a formidable young woman.”

  Flustered, Fury remained silent as she led the way into the house, where Juli served wine in elegant crystal goblets. The moment they were seated, Fury fixed her gaze on Luis and spoke directly. “Father Sebastian tells me that your ship was attacked by . . . some woman.”

  Father Sebastian’s jaw dropped, his eyes flying first to Fury and then to Luis Domingo. With a sinking heart, he saw Domingo’s jaw tense.

  “Not some woman,” Luis replied, “The infamous Sea Siren herself. She plundered my ship and made off with all my cargo, with the exception of some sandalwood.”

  “Come now, señor,” Fury said casually, sipping her wine, “even I remember the stories about the Sea Siren, and I was only a child. If there is such a person, she must be quite old by now. You described a beautiful young woman to Father Sebastian. How do you explain that? I, too, have seen the picture that hangs in the Dutch East India offices, and Mynheer Dykstra, a good friend of the family’s, told us that picture is over twenty years old.”

  Luis shrugged. “I cannot explain it. I can only tell you what happened. My men were present. She was there and she was real and the frigate she sailed was black as Hades,” he said coldly.

  Fury decided to try another tack. “Señor Domingo, there must be hundreds of black ships that sail the seas. You did say this attack occurred at dusk, the deadliest time of day for sea captains. Perhaps it was the lighting that made the frigate look black.”

  Luis’s eyes darkened. “Would that same lighting also make white sails turn black? And how do you explain the woman herself? She talked to me—I didn’t imagine that. I tell you, she was real and she was beautiful, much the same as she was described to me.”

  The priest sipped his wine and regarded Luis thoughtfully. “How close were you to this female pirate, señor,” he asked, “and how old would you say she was?”

  “Stern to stern,” Luis replied, “and young. Beautiful, deadly . . .”

  “And an impostor!” Fury said, waving her hand in the air. “Surely a man of your vast experience has reasoned that out by now. Fairy tales, señor, are for children, and this particular tale has been told over and over until it’s become real. The Sea Siren is either dead or, more likely, retired from the sea.”

  Luis was on his feet, his mouth a tense, grim line. “Am I to understand you’re calling me a liar, señorita?” he said quietly.

  Fury remained seated and offered Luis a serene smile. “No, señor, I am merely saying I think you’re mistaken. An able impostor is the only logical explanation.”

  “How is it you know so much about this scourge of the seas?” Luis demanded.

  Fury flushed. “Señor, the Sea Siren was no scourge! It is true she wreaked havoc on my father and almost ruined the Dutch East India Company. If anyone is an authority on her, it is my father. She never plundered for cargo; she had a mission, and when that mission was fulfilled, she retired. It’s that simple. Your female pirate is an impostor, and I simply. cannot believe otherwise!”

  “I’ll be goddamned to hell!” Luis exploded. He turned to Father Sebastian. “Is that what you think, too, Padre?”

  The elderly priest hesitated; clearly this discussion was not to his liking. “Twenty years, señor, is a very long time for a woman not to age,” he said reluctantly. “On the other hand, you and your men were there—and you seem so sure . . . Tonight I will pray for a reasonable explanation.”

  “In the meantime,” Fury said sweetly, “let us put such talk aside. I believe our dinner is ready. Señor . . . ?” She beckoned, motioning to his chair.

  Luis struggled with himself, but in the end common courtesy and gallantry prevailed, and he took his seat without further comment.

  Midway through the meal, Fury realized that Father Sebastian was the only one at the table actually paying attention to the food. She and Luis were merely going through the motions for the sake of propriety. Conversation consisted of the weather, the beautiful gardens, and the mysterious trunk he’d delivered to Saianha. At the mention of Chaezar Alvarez’s wife, Fury’s eyes widened. Even Father Sebastian stopped eating.

  “Señor Alvarez had a wife?” he asked incredulously.

  Luis nodded. “Does that surprise you?”

  Father Sebastian shrugged and resumed eating.

  “Señor Alvarez was a competitor of my father’s years ago. It was said that he was enamored of the Sea Siren, as was every man in Batavia, even my father.” Fury stared into Luis’s dark eyes. “My father never once mentioned his having a wife.”

  “Perhaps it is my mistake.” Luis proceeded to relate the terms of the Spanish commission and the delivery he’d made to Saianha. “I merely assumed it was his wife. The name on the manifest was Amalie Suub Alvarez. The woman appeared to be quite advanced in age and in ill health when I delivered the trunk. I did not actually meet her, however. I don’t suppose it matters one way or the other.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it does,” Fury said thoughtfully.

  Luis regarded Fury just as thoughtfully in the ensuing silence. She was every bit as beautiful as her exquisite mother, he reflected. And as sharp-tongued. Nothing would get by this one. Earlier, he’d been quite open in expressing his thoughts and losing his temper—which he wished now he’d controlled—and she’d shown a depth of spirit in matching him that he’d had to admire.

  “Tell me, Miss van der Rhys,” he said abruptly, “if I’m not being too presumptuous, why did you have a change of heart in regard to the convent?”

  Fury crossed her fingers under the table. “I decided I couldn’t give up the outside world. I thought I had a noble religious vocation, but I was proved wrong once I returned here to Batavia. Isn’t that so, Father Sebastian?” she asked quietly.

  “Hrumph, yes, quite so,” the priest replied, forking a large piece of fowl onto his plate.

  Luis’s eyes narrowed. Something was going on between the priest and the girl—a secret of some sort. “What will you do now?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “I plan to help Father Sebastian in the parish until my parents return from the Americas,” Fury told him.

  “So you can stay close to God, I assume,” Luis muttered.

  “Yes.” Fury glanced at the open doors leading to the wide veranda. Luis’s eyes followed her gaze, and he heard a slight rustling noise from among the trees outside.

  “It’s very warm this evening, don’t you think?” Fury asked sweetly.

  Luis nodded. He wondered suddenly if he was falling in love with this beautiful young woman. He’d been attracted to her the first time he’d met her, although then she’d seemed no more than a delightful child—and one promised to God, at that. Now, however . . .

  Fury looked up at that moment and caught him staring at her. The flush on her cheeks made him smile inwardly; he was responsible, he knew, for the color creeping up her long, slender throat. What would it feel like to caress that delicate column of ivory? he wondered. To follow it with his lips, down . . . down . . .

  Breathless, Fury tore her eyes away and placed her napkin across her plate, the signal that dinner was at an end. She wondered if she dared to take the Spaniard for a stroll through the garden with the hawks on the veranda, then decided it would be most unwise under the circumstances. Instead, she led the way into her father’s library, where Juli served coffee and offered cigars. Both men declined the tobacco but accepted brandy with their coffee.

  “I hope you won’t think ill of me, child, if we make an early departure,” Father Sebastian said, placing his coffee cup on the silver tray. He stood and took her hand in his.

  “Of course not, Father,” Fury said warmly, “but you’re welcome to stay the night if you like.” She turned to Luis. “Señor Domingo, must you return to
town also? But you’ll want to see about your cargo, of course. What will you do? Can you possibly recapture what was taken from you?”

  “I plan to put a price on the Siren’s head,” Luis declared bluntly. “I have all the time in the world now to search her out and bring her to justice. Believe me when I tell you there will be no mercy shown her.”

  Fury smiled. “I believe you, Señor Domingo, but first you have to find her. I wish you would believe me when I tell you it is an impostor who ravaged your ship. In any case, I wish you success in your endeavor. If I hear any news from Mynheer Dykstra, I will be sure that you are informed.”

  At the wide front doors, Luis brought Fury’s hands to his lips, his eyes boring into hers. “I thought you were beautiful when I first met you, but here in this lush tropical paradise, I realize you are exquisite. You remind me of someone I’ve seen somewhere,” he said thoughtfully.

  Fury blushed furiously. Her hands were trembling so badly, he had to be aware of it. “My mother, perhaps. People say we look very much alike.” Her voice was as shaky as her hands. No man had ever had this effect on her before.

  He nodded and released her hands, stepping back to don his cape. “Perhaps. Buenas noches, señorita.”

  Fury nodded and smiled. “Perhaps you will return when your emotions are . . . calmer,” she said, one eyebrow lifted suggestively.

  He bowed low before her. “I’d like that very much.”

  The moment the darkness swallowed the two men, Fury ran to the kitchen, her cheeks on fire. “Juli!” she called.

  Juli came hurrying in, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Is your blood singing, miss?” she asked playfully.

  “Of course not,” Fury blustered. “But he is handsome, isn’t he? He said I was exquisite. And he kept staring at this . . . this cap on my head. For all I know, he thinks I’m bald.” Both women doubled over in peals of laughter. Fury handed the sparkling headpiece to Juli.

  “I watched from the kitchen,” Juli told her. “He hardly ate, and his eyes never left you. Definitely enamored. You could probably twist him around your finger—if you wanted to, that is,” she added brazenly.

  Fury laughed. “I have to admit I was flattered. Tell me, did you listen to what he had to say about the Sea Siren?”

  “Every word,” Juli said, nodding. “I’d say the señor is quite intelligent and able to make sense of the puzzle you’ve set for him. You must be very careful. . . . Now,” she said, clapping her hands, “I want to hear about your trip to the cove. How did you find the Rana?”

  Fury was somewhat puzzled by the teasing manner in which Juli asked the question, but she was too excited to pursue it. “Oh, Juli, you won’t believe this, but the ship is moored out there! She’s seaworthy. I expected her to be a hulk and rotting from top to bottom. It’s been so many years! Who could have . . . Someone found her and . . . Why are you smiling, Juli?” she demanded, unable to stand it a moment longer. “What do you know?”

  “As you know, Miss Fury, I have many brothers-seven, to be exact,” Juli began, eyes twinkling. “When your mother started sending me all those gifts and purses of money, I wanted to do something for her in return. So, I talked the matter over with Father Sebastian, and he suggested we condition the ship and careen her. My brothers did it. And they did a wonderful job! She’s as seaworthy as she was in your mother’s day. But this I swear, Miss Fury—whoever it was who attacked Señor Domingo’s ship did not to do so with the Rana. No one but your mother would dare to take her down the River of Death.”

  “Then who attacked Señor Domingo?” Fury asked.

  Juli shook her head. “I have no idea. But if you should decide to take matters into your own hands—to hunt down the impostor who is posing as your mother . . . well, you now have the means to do it.”

  Fury swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Juli, I’ve never sailed a ship on my own. I’ve taken the wheel, but my father and mother were with me. When I was younger I sailed with my brothers. A ship the size of the Rana needs a goodly crew. I can’t . . . I couldn’t . . .”

  “Who else?” Juli said forcefully. “You are your mother’s daughter. When Sirena was tested, she found she had the strength, the will, the determination, to overcome everything in her path to reach her objective. You are no different. We could wait to see if this impostor plunders other ships. I can have my brothers frequent the harbor and saloons. They’re bound to pick up some information, if there’s any to be gathered. If the piracy of Senor Domingo’s ship is an isolated incident, the whole matter would best be forgotten. But if not . . .” She felt no need to complete the sentence.

  Fury’s heart fluttered in her chest. Juli was right: she could study her mother’s navigational charts, brush up on her seafaring skills—and wait to see if this impostor struck again. If she did, the Rana would be ready to exact revenge . . . with an able captain at the wheel.

  “Would you like me to make you some hot chocolate before you retire?” Juli asked, watching her. “If you plan on riding out to the cove tomorrow, you’ll want a good night’s rest.”

  “I am tired,” Fury agreed. “Chocolate would be wonderful, Juli.” Warm chocolate to soothe her, she reflected, with her mother’s navigation charts and thoughts of Luis Domingo to keep her company. . . .

  Fury sighed. She’d be lucky if she got any sleep at all.

  While Fury sipped at her chocolate and pored over the Rana’s charts, Luis Domingo was sipping wine with Father Sebastian in his study, wine that Juli had added to the basket of food she’d sent along with the priest.

  Father Sebastian was tired, and he was worried. Life, he decided on the way back to town, had been far too quiet. This man was going to turn everything upside down. He just knew Fury was going to do something foolish, something that might later come back to haunt Sirena van der Rhys, and ultimately he would he held responsible. Dear God, how will I ever explain this to Regan? he wondered, shuddering at the thought.

  “Are you all right, Father?” Luis asked with concern.

  Father Sebastian swallowed the last of his wine and immediately poured a second glass. If nothing else, the Madeira would help him sleep. “A little tired, my son, but the trip out to the van der Rhyses’ estate always makes me feel good. Tell me, what did you think of Furana?”

  Luis paused to consider the question. “She’s beautiful. Spirited, I’d say. I didn’t see that in her the first time I met her. Then she was . . . perhaps ’peaceful’ would be the right word. Now she seems to be fretting over something. I’d like to see her again when my affairs are straightened out. But I’ve no intention of . . . distracting myself until I’ve tracked down the Sea Siren and brought her to justice.”

  Father Sebastian blanched. “How do you intend to find her? I don’t see what you can possibly do now. The woman is gone, along with your cargo. If—and I say if—she’s as proficient as the Sea Siren, you will never find her.”

  “Then I’ll set a trap for her.”

  “What sort of trap, Senor Domingo?” the priest asked, frowning.

  “I think it wiser not to voice my plans, even to you, Father,” Luis said apologetically. “I would like to ask you a question, however.”

  “Yes, my son?”

  “In all the tales you’ve heard of the Sea Siren, do they always refer to a scar on the inside of her arm, a scar so wicked it defies description?”

  The priest nodded. “I believe so. From here to here,” he said, rubbing the inside of his arm from wrist to elbow.

  “Then she shouldn’t be too hard to find,” the Spaniard said, his eyes narrowing.

  Father Sebastian felt a prickle of alarm race up his spine. Fury’s arm was scarred as badly as her mother’s. “The Sea Siren is dead!” he said harshly.

  “And I tell you she’s alive,” Luis insisted. “I saw her with my own eyes!”

  “No, my son. You saw a woman pretending to be the Sea Siren.” He was on his feet now, weaving his way to the staircase. “I’m very tired, Señor Domingo, s
o if you would take pity on an aging man and see your way out, I would appreciate it.”

  The Spaniard regarded the priest with eyes as cold as death. So, he thought, the holy man did know something! “Wait, Padre,” he called out. “Please, just a moment more.”

  Father Sebastian paused and then turned to face Luis, his hands feverishly working the beads around his waist. “Yes, Señor Domingo?”

  “Father, what I said to you moments ago, my confession as to my plans, I’d like you to consider it just that—a confession. A sacred trust. Never to leave this room.”

  The priest nodded, his eyes infinitely weary. “You need not worry. I have never broken any of my vows in all my years. Your . . . plans are safe with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  Luis’s eyes smoldered as he watched the gnarled figure make its way to the staircase. “We’ll talk again. Buenas noches, Father.”

  Luis Domingo closed the door quietly behind him. The night was warm and dark. He stood on the stone step, savoring the flower-scented air before he reached into his pocket for a cigar. When the tip glowed brightly, he began his long walk back to the Silver Lady.

  Turning at one point to take a last look behind him, he saw two yellowish lights wink on the second floor of the parish house. The good Father and . . . who else? The drunken old man from the tavern, no doubt. Earlier in the day the tavern owner had told him the sea salt had trudged off with the priest.

  Luis drew deeply on the cigar. Now, what possible connection could a priest and an old sailor have in common? He stopped in his tracks and blew a cloud of blue-black smoke in the still air. An old man, a nervous old priest, and a young girl who’d just changed her mind about entering the convent . . . A conspiracy?

  As he strolled down the hard-packed road, Luis allowed his thoughts to drift. Nothing else made sense. It had to be a conspiracy. Clearly he would have to interrogate the officers of the Dutch East India Company and anyone else who could remember back to the Sea Siren’s reign of terror.