Captive Secrets

by Fern Michaels

  Dare she set sail after the Dutch ship and the diamond consignment? Of course she dared; the diamonds were the reason she was steering this very ship up the River of Death. If she was successful, she, too, would retire from the sea. She’d return to Saianha a wealthy woman, able to live in luxury until she died.

  The plan when they weighed anchor was for Cato to pilot the jolly boat into the harbor and sign on to the Dutch manifest. Seamen talked when they were full of grog. Rego would be in town waiting for Cato to inform him of the sailing time. But she’d have to be careful. The real Sea Siren, if she knew of the diamond consignment, would be on watch. She might even be noble enough to provide an escort for the Dutch ship. The thought was farfetched but not impossible.

  Amalie’s shoulders ached with the strain of constant vigilance. They were close now, almost there. . . . She watched, grim-faced, as Cato reached out and touched a jutting rock. They were all a hairbreadth away from disaster, and everyone aboard the ship knew it.

  “Never again,” she muttered to herself. “I never want to be this close to death again.”

  When at last Cato shouted, “We’re clear, the cove is dead ahead!” Amalie did her best to straighten up, to look confident and assured. Fortunately only Cato knew how weak she was, how terrified.

  “All that matters is you did it,” he murmured. “Don’t think back, think only of the present. We’ll weigh anchor, and at first light I’ll make my way back down the river and into town. I’ll take the jolly boat as far as it’s safe and travel the rest of the way on foot. Rego will return with the boat when I have the information you need.”

  Below decks in her cabin, Amalie gave in to her emotions. She huddled in her bunk, shivering uncontrollably. Tears of frustration, of fear and relief, coursed down her cheeks. She wasn’t the Sea Siren. She was an impostor who couldn’t even come close. That woman had been nerveless, her ability lawless. The Siren had relied only on herself, while she, Amalie, was dependent on her crew and others for information. Hers was a mission of pure greed; the Siren had sailed to avenge a wrong. There was no comparison no matter how much she wanted to believe she was every bit as capable and talented as the famous Sea Siren. “Even in death you robbed me, you bastard,” she hissed to the four walls. “I wish you could hear me, Father,” she spat out.

  Amalie wanted to pray then, to the God she’d learned about in the mission. If she said the words she learned and remembered, it would be sacrilegious and only compound her spiritual being. That God would not forgive what she’d done.

  When Cato looked in on Amalie, just before setting out in the jolly boat, she was sleeping, her tears drying on her cheeks. She looked so beautiful, he thought, her hand cupped under her cheek. Peaceful and saintly . . . He felt his loins stir, and he ached with his need. Softly he turned and closed the door behind him. He had his own mission now, one dictated by his love.

  Juli clucked her tongue at her mistress. “You need sleep, Miss Fury. There’s nothing you can do until one of my brothers brings word. Use that time to rest. Warm milk, warm chocolate,” she coaxed.

  Fury shook her head and continued her restless pacing. A sudden clatter in the courtyard sent her flying to the balcony doors. “It’s Father Sebastian,” Fury muttered as she turned from the window. “What do you suppose . . . ?”

  “Nothing good, I’m sure,” Juli said sourly as she moved out of Fury’s way.

  Fury threw open the heavy front door to stare anxiously at the priest. “What is it, Father, has something happened? Why have you come all this way so early in the morning? Juli, fetch a cool drink. And set the table for breakfast.”

  “No, child,” the priest said, mopping his forehead. “No breakfast, but I would like a cool drink. Please, let us sit down. My bones grow older each day.”

  Fury waited in an agony of impatience as Father Sebastian drained his drink. At last he sighed heavily and leaned forward, his face so earnest she almost swooned with fear. Something had happened to her parents, she thought wildly. The elderly priest looked so sad, so forlorn.

  “It’s my parents, isn’t it?” she blurted out. “Something has happened to them. That’s why you’re here.”

  “No, child!” cried Father Sebastian, obviously upset that his behavior had so misled her. “That’s not why I’m here.... Last night, quite late, Luis Domingo came to the parish house. He entered, but he did not wake me, although he needed to talk. Instead, he . . . sought solace by picking up my Bible, and he . . . he read this.” The priest drew out the parchment letter from the archbishop. “I meant to tell you about it earlier, child, but I couldn’t. I so wanted you to enjoy the soiree and not concern yourself with this until it . . . This doesn’t mean you have to . . . Forgive me, Furana,” he concluded lamely.

  Fury reached for the crackly paper, but the priest hesitated. “Before I give you this,” he said, “I want you to know something. Señor Domingo asked me to give you a message. He said he’d been to the cove and seen your ship. He said your secret is safe with him. He’s sailing with the evening tide. He read this letter while I slept and later apologized to me for having done so. You’ll never see him again, Furana.” The good father sighed heavily. “I fear we’ve both misjudged the man. Mynheer Dykstra, however, will not be as generous as Senor Domingo. With him the matter is much more personal, I believe.”

  “The letter, Father. Give it to me,” Fury demanded. Her face betrayed no emotion as she read the contents. “This says I have . . . two weeks . . . two weeks to do . . .”

  “Whatever you want. Two weeks is fourteen days. A person could sail quite far in fourteen days. This time of year the trade winds are a sailor’s dream. When one leaves the outside world for a religious vocation, one must leave his old world in peace, with no emotional ties. I . . . I told Señor Domingo he should come out here and tell you himself, but he declined. I wanted to say something to him that would ease his mind, but I couldn’t say what he needed to hear. He knows who you are, Furana. And he’s carried his vengeance against your mother for so long. He’s turning his back on everything—his chance to seek out the impostor, his chance for a handsome commission to escort the diamond merchant back to Spain, everything.”

  “We all make decisions we have to live with, Father,” Fury said softly.

  “He must love you very much to make such a decision.” Father Sebastian felt his old heart quicken at the look of pure joy that settled on Fury’s face. Her eyes were like stars, her smile as radiant as the sun. He wanted to cry when the stars and sun left her features. “Child, I have no idea what you feel for the Spaniard. What does a man of God know about love between a man and a woman? But I know what I saw in Señor Domingo’s face, what I heard in his voice. And I must assume that God, in His infinite wisdom, has given me the insight to interpret his emotions. I believe he is in love with you. What you do with this information is up to you, of course. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to impose on you for a short nap before I return to the village.”

  “Of course, Father,” Juli said, holding the door open, her eyes on Fury. She wondered smugly if her own eyes were as star bright as her mistress’s. Aldo would arrive, if all went well, after dinner. Her feet literally danced up the long staircase. What was Fury going to do?

  “The good Father is tucked in with a cool drink on his night table,” she reported on her return to the study. “He’ll sleep well; I closed the draperies. Now!”—she regarded Fury narrowly, hands on her ample hips—“what was that all about? It’s just a letter, it didn’t come from your pope. You don’t have to obey it if you don’t want to. If you have doubts, you shouldn’t even consider obeying. I heard what Father Sebastian said, and I saw your face, Miss Fury. Does the wind have to blow you over before you wake up to what’s in front of your eyes? Do what your heart tells you to do!”

  “Juli, in case you haven’t noticed, I no longer have a ship in the cove,” Fury snapped. “I couldn’t do anything even if I wanted to—at this time. Until one of your brothers
arrives with information, we have to be patient.”

  “You could be making plans,” Juli persisted. “Don’t you want to see him one more time? That place you’re planning on entering, it will be dark and dreary . . . his handsome face could be the sunshine in your thoughts.”

  Fury flinched. “I’ll be too busy to think about Señor Domingo. Besides, it’s unholy to think of a man when I’ve given myself to God.”

  Juli gave her a withering look. “You haven’t given yourself yet. You still have two weeks to do whatever you want. Two weeks, Miss Fury!”

  “I’ll just have to live with that, won’t I? The woman posing as my mother probably has knowledge of the diamond consignment and has heard that Senor Domingo is to sail with the diamond merchant. Now that he sails on his own frigate, she won’t go after the Dutch ship. She’ll probably think it’s a trick of some sort and go after Luis . . . I mean Senor Domingo. She’ll never get the diamonds, and he—well, he can take care of himself,” she concluded defiantly.

  The silence between the two women grew unbearable. Fury refused to meet Juli’s eyes, although she knew the housekeeper was staring at her, waiting. . . .

  “You have no guts!” she burst out at last.

  Fury was on her feet in a second. “I resent your remark, Juli!”

  “And well you should,” Juli responded. “You were play-acting before, enjoying yourself and the drama you created. Now, when it’s time to do what your mother would do, you have no stomach for saving the man you love. You love him, admit it, Miss Fury!”

  “I’ll admit no such thing. You forget your place. Perhaps my mother allowed you to speak to her in such a manner, but you will not talk to me like this!”

  Juli stomped her way out of the study, calling over her shoulder, “Your mother was a woman in every sense of the word. You hide behind a holy facade and mumble prayers that do not come from your heart. You’re afraid to become a woman!” She slammed into the kitchen and began to hack away at a chicken on her table, muttering angrily all the while.

  Moments later Fury thrust open the door. “Juli, I’m sorry. I never should have spoken to you as I did. Please, forgive me. You’ve been a wonderful friend to my mother and myself. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Listen to me, I have to make you understand. I’m committed to God. I’m meant to enter the convent. Of course it isn’t going to be easy, I know that. There’s every possibility I may fail in my vocation, but I have to try. Can’t you understand? All my life . . . God is my life.”

  Juli sniffed and bent over her chicken without looking up. “The way I see it, Miss Fury, is you’re cheating your God. You’ll never convince me you don’t have worldly feelings for the Spaniard. If you wish to dupe yourself, that’s fine with me. Even those damnable birds haven’t touched him. That should tell you something. You say they’re attuned to you, so therefore they must know he’s . . . good for you.”

  “You think I should go after him . . . and do what?” Fury asked, spreading her hands wide. “Somehow I don’t think Señor Domingo will think kindly of me when I tell him I’m sailing along as an escort to protect him,” she sniffed.

  Juli brought the blade down across the chicken’s wing joint with a vicious slam. “You don’t have to tell him that. When you catch up to him, tell him you want only to warn him. A man will think kindly of a woman if she tries to apprise him of trouble. All men know we women have a sixth sense.”

  “How much of what you’ve just said is your own insight and how much is my mother’s?” Fury demanded. She laughed bitterly as Juli refused to meet her gaze. The chicken lost its leg with a loud whack!

  “Cook that,” Fury said, pointing to the unfortunate fowl, “and give it to Father Sebastian. I don’t want any lunch. Don’t ever give me chicken again. I’ll be in the garden.”

  “Thinking, I hope,” Juli muttered as the knife severed the remaining leg from the carcass.

  Out among the lush greenery, Fury headed for the nearest shade tree to reflect on the events of the past twenty-four hours. What was she to do? How foolish of Juli to assume there were choices for her to draw from. Could she go after Luis Domingo, warn him, and then head back to port and enter the convent? Two weeks wasn’t much time. If there was a storm or if another ship accosted her, she could be delayed. If she didn’t appear at the convent gates at the appointed time, she might be denied entrance. If she did go to sea and got herself killed or maimed, she could never enter the convent—or anyplace else, for that matter.

  Overhead, the branches of the lush breadfruit tree rustled. Fury peered upward into Gaspar’s glittering gaze. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. Her eye sought the sun as she tried to calculate how long it would take her to ride horseback into town. If she went by way of the cove, she might make the harbor at high tide.

  Juli watched her mistress from the kitchen window. “It’s better than nothing,” she mumbled as she dropped the pieces of chicken into the boiling water. If Fury’s God was on her side, she’d arrive in town with minutes to spare.

  Fury gave no mind to her appearance as she spurred Starlight through the trampled jungle path. Within minutes her hair was free of its pins, streaming behind her in damp tendrils. Overhead, the hawks kept pace with her, working the air as they flew directly in her path. The horse’s galloping hooves beat to the rhythm of her heart’s refrain: Why am I doing this, why? Why? Why?

  Because I damn well want to! She answered at last. I don’t care if he thinks me wanton. He stirred something in me, something I’ve never felt before.

  Juli was right, she could do whatever she pleased until the moment she walked through the gates of the convent. And this damn well pleased her. Telling Luis her thoughts concerning the impostor—even apologizing to him for her mother—was just an excuse. She wanted to see him again. She needed to say good-bye.

  An hour later she was within walking distance of the cove. From there she led Starlight on foot to save her strength for the hard ride along the sandy beach and then back through the jungle to the harbor.

  The sound of voices coming from the beach carried to her ears. She noticed then that the hawks had worked their way down and were perched on Starlight’s saddle, their dark eyes sparkling in the sun. Fury brought the horse up short and strained to hear what was being said down below. Juli’s brothers must have brought her ship back to the cove, she decided. Thank God, the Rana was safe—safe, providing Luis Domingo kept his word. She was about to call out when she heard loud cursing in what sounded like Portuguese. Instantly she tethered the horse, then set out, crouching low as she scrambled down the familiar terrain.

  The blazing sun was beginning to make her light-headed. The jungle sounds were quiet now, evidence that someone was walking about. Would they recognize the signs of an alien presence? When there was no break in the conversation, Fury sighed in relief, then cautioned herself to move stealthily.

  Panting with her efforts to remain unnoticed, she peered below for her first glimpse of the Rana—and sucked in her breath at the sight before her eyes. The black ship loomed ahead like a specter, but it wasn’t her black ship. How . . . ?

  Was this the ship Luis Domingo had seen? Or had he sighted the Rana herself? It had been scant hours since her frigate had sailed down the river. Suddenly she grew angry. Why should she be so surprised to see the impostor’s ship here? she asked herself caustically. If Luis Domingo had figured out her hiding place, certainly the Sea Siren’s impersonator could have done the same. After all, it was the perfect—if not the only—sanctuary in the vicinity. So much for thinking herself clever at covering her tracks.

  Fury squinted to observe the ship more closely. Armed. A good-size crew if the number of men on deck was any indication. Where was the captain? Below decks, obviously. Should she stay in hiding to observe movement, or . . . . She cast a critical eye at the sun. If she wanted to see Luis, she would have to leave now. But if she wanted to discover the identity of the impostor, she would have to remain.
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  Moments later Fury had reached a decision. She wasn’t meant to see Luis again—circumstances dictated but one course of action. She wasn’t leaving here until she saw the infamous poseur with her own eyes.

  Settling herself behind the dense jungle growth, Fury waited, the sun beating down on her with a vengeance. Her mouth was parched, her wet clothes drying on her back. She brushed at hundreds of insects determined to suck her blood. She was itching from head to toe. If only she could slip into the cool cove water. But no, she had to think, to plan. . . . If the impostor had sailed up the River of Death, she was as apt as the real Sea Siren. And would be equally adept at sailing with the tide, unless ... unless . . . The mouth of the river had to be blocked.

  One clenched fist pounded the soft, loamy ground, releasing black specks and bits of greenery. A loud squawk of outrage from a jungle bird permeated the air. Immediately the men below quieted. Fury held her breath.

  The voice she was waiting to hear was husky, alluring. Sultry. Fury parted the thick emerald leaves. “A jungle parrot,” the woman sneered. “The same kind of jungle bird that gave me this!” She brandished her left arm for all to see.

  Fury clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise. No wonder Luis and the others had mistaken her for the Sea Siren. She wore an identical outfit, had the same long, streaming, dark hair, and had a scar on her arm that obviously passed for her mother’s. With one crucial exception: the impostor’s scar was on her left arm, whereas her mother’s and her own were on the right.

  But she was beautiful, Fury admitted. Achingly, gloriously beautiful. With the sun glittering down on the deck of the black ship, she looked like a golden goddess. Fury could see the men leering at her, but with one murderous glance she sent them back to their game of cards. Fury inched her way backward, grasping at vines and leaves to prevent herself from sliding forward.