Captive Secrets

by Fern Michaels

  Luis’s neck ached with the strain of holding his head steady to peer through the glass. He felt as if he’d been dragged over rough terrain by a runaway horse. For more hours than he could remember he’d done nothing but keep his eye pressed to the glass, and the strain was starting to affect his position with the crew. And now it was almost a new day, he thought tiredly as he accepted a mug of steaming coffee from his first mate.

  “If you like, Captain, I’ll take the watch,” Julian offered. “A wash and a shave will go a long way to easing your tiredness.”

  Luis nodded and handed the spyglass to his first mate. The moment he closed the wheelhouse door behind him, his shoulders drooped. A wash and shave would feel good. A clean shirt wouldn’t hurt, either, he decided.

  The faint breeze circling about him felt good. He looked up and noticed the first gray streaks of dawn. A second later he realized the breeze wasn’t coming from the ocean, but from the rigging. He arched his neck to see better in the grayish light, and his blood ran cold at the sight of the black birds sailing straight up into the air at a dizzying speed. They continued to circle the topsail, their wings fanning the air furiously. A moment later they were higher than he could see. His eyes burning, he ran from the wheelhouse for his spyglass, all signs of weariness gone.

  “Where the hell are they?” he roared minutes later when the gray sky remained clear. He heard them before they came into sight, diving toward the ship faster than a thunderbolt. Gaspar, his wings feathered inward, plunged straight to the bow where Luis was standing. The Spaniard sucked in his breath as the bird fanned his wings and swept outward, away from the railing, just as Pilar rocketed behind him. They worked the breeze to stay aloft at eye level until Luis raised his hand to show he understood. He watched as both birds arrowed a westerly course.

  “I’m changing course,” Julian shouted before Luis could issue an order.

  Luis brought the glass to his eye, straining to see in the early light. There was no sign of the hawks, nor had he expected any. They were on their way to Fury. Their temporary visit was at an end.

  He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Fury was close now. The hawks had come to him for help. If she were in mortal danger, they wouldn’t have stayed with him so long. Whatever was about to happen was going to happen soon.

  “Tighten sail, full speed!” he roared. He wished then that he, too, could soar and fly to Fury as the hawks had done.

  “Now, what the hell are you doing?” Peter Dykstra raged across the water. “You’re following those goddamn birds, aren’t you?” He shook his fist in the air. “I want you to turn your ship around and sail a steady course. Stop this foolishness immediately!”

  “This is my ship, Dykstra, and if you don’t like what I’m doing, fire me,” Luis called back. “I never wanted your job in the first place. If you want your cargo, I’ll lower it in one of the jolly boats. I have no intention of getting myself killed so you can live to be a rich man. The Sea Siren is out there, or maybe I should say both Sea Sirens are out there. One way or another, she’s going to come after your cargo. It’s my decision to meet her head on. She won’t be expecting this kind of maneuver.”

  “You’re insane,” Dykstra said hoarsely. Yet in his heart he knew the Spaniard spoke the truth. He lowered his eyes until he was facing the scurvy crew he’d hired at the last minute. To a man, they would cut him down the moment they discovered the true contents of his cargo.

  “Follow him,” the diamond merchant called in a feeble voice. “I’m paying you to take my orders, and I’m ordering you to follow Captain Domingo!”

  “I’m filing charges against you the moment we reach Spain, Domingo,” Dykstra blustered. “You won’t like languishing in a Spanish prison.”

  “Then you’ll be right alongside me,” Luis snarled. “And my countrymen will not be kind to a Dutchman. Think about that, Mynheer.” He turned to Julian. “Tie the vinegar cask to the jolly boat and lower it.”

  “No, no, no!” the diamond merchant screamed. “I’m paying you, not Mynheer Dykstra. I’ve made no demands on you. I want you to continue!”

  Luis was gracious in his acquiescence. “But I want your assurance that our bargain is sealed,” he called to Dykstra.

  Dykstra bristled. “I’m a man of my word!”

  “Dykstra, you’re a man of many words. Just one will do this time. Is it a bargain?”

  “Yes, damn you!” Dykstra bellowed.

  “Sail ho!” came the cry from the rigging.

  “I see two sets of sails,” came a second cry.

  “Where away?” Luis shouted.

  “Dead ahead on our bow, Captain. She’s sailing at seven knots.”

  “Man your stations,” Luis ordered. “Fire only when I give the command!”

  “She’s gaining on us, Capitana. We’re ready to fire when you give the order,” Fury’s first mate shouted excitedly. “Capitana, look, to the west!”

  Fury whirled, the glass to her eye. “Gaspar!” she cried. “Pilar! You came back!”

  Faster than a cannonball, the hawks were on the ship’s railing, their talons curled securely on the shiny brass, their glittering eyes fixed on Fury’s excited face.

  “Where have you been? Oh, I don’t care where you’ve been, only that you’re here safe and sound. I knew you’d come, I knew it! It’s not time for me to leave you . . . yet.” She bent low, her head between the two birds as she stroked their silky backs. “Go up, Gaspar, high in the rigging in case shots are fired,” she urged. “Pilar, stay with him.”

  “Sail ho! On our bow, three ships. I can see the Spaniard on the bow. The frigate on our stern is gaining. What should we do, Capitana?” shouted the youngest of Juli’s brothers.

  “Those on our bow are . . . friendly. I think,” Fury muttered. So that’s where the hawks had been; they’d gone after Luis! She laughed, a sound of pure joy. Leaping to the stern, she nicked the air in a salute to the birds perched on the mizzenmast.

  “Hawhawhawhaw,” came the response.

  The sudden roar of a cannon shot split the early-morning dawn. “Fire!” Fury shouted. “She’s in your sights. Rip her bow to splinters. Broadside now! On the count of three!”

  Black smoke spiraled upward on the gentle trade winds, obliterating all view of the pirate ship. Her own ship rocked crazily beneath her feet. “We’ve been hit, Capitana, our stern!”

  “Shore up this ship!” Fury ordered as a second wave of cannon fire thundered through the air. This time the volley of shots came from the Spaniard’s ship.

  “Try hitting the ship instead of the water, señor!” Fury called to Luis. “You do me no good if you can’t knock her guns out.”

  “Ungrateful bitch!” Luis muttered as he gave a second order to fire. His own ship took a volley of shots then, splintering his bow just beneath his feet. “Fire, goddamn you!” he raged. “Not this black ship, the one on her stern. Drive her into the sea!”

  “All hands on deck!” Fury shouted. “Mount the shrouds and yardarms. I’m going to steer this ship directly astern at full speed, and our bow will puncture hers. She won’t have time to turn her sail. She’s taking on water; one of us got off a good shot. Fire!” The impostor was dead ahead, and Fury could see the men scrambling on deck as she shouted orders.

  A deafening crash sounded as the cannonball made contact with the enemy ship. As the ram punctured her bow, large splinters of wood flew in the air. Men toppled overboard as other seamen rushed to secure the cannon that was no longer stationary. The crackling and rendering of the ship was ear-splitting.

  Fury raced to the bow, her hand on the hilt of the cutlass as several of Amalie’s men leapt aboard her frigate. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Juli’s brothers defend themselves with an expertise she hadn’t known they possessed. Once she risked a glance in the direction of the Spaniard’s ship. The entire crew was gathered at the rail, watching her, waiting to see if she needed their help.

  “I want to see you before I kill y
ou!” she shouted to Amalie, who was standing on what was left of her stern. She was truly magnificent, Fury thought, every bit as beautiful as her mother must have been years ago as she, too, had stood in just such a position, ready to do battle. It never occurred to her that she was equally as magnificent to those watching.

  Amalie leapt aboard the Rana, landing less than a foot away. “You aren’t old at all,” she exclaimed, brandishing her cutlass.

  Fury laughed. “Why should I be old?” she said. “I’m not real; I’m a legend you refused to let die, and for that you will die.” She smiled at the rage in the impostor’s eyes.

  “You’re as real as I am!” Amalie snarled. “Blood will spout from your veins just as it will from mine. You’re no spirit!” Fury smiled grimly as she unsheathed her cutlass.

  “Do something!” Dykstra shrieked to Luis.

  “I believe the situation is well in hand, Mynheer Dykstra,” the Spaniard called back. “We have only to wait for the outcome. Your cargo is safe.”

  Dykstra was so upset, he fairly jittered in response. “Look again, Captain!”

  Luis shaded his eyes to see through the thick black smoke circling upward from the impostor’s ship. He’d been so intent on watching Fury and her adversary, he’d ignored the pirate’s men, who were now attacking from all directions. Bedlam broke out as Dykstra’s crew joined in the battle, followed by the governor’s men. Luis and his own crew were the last to leap into the fray.

  “Look to your back, Siren!” he shouted over to Fury, who turned with the speed of a cat and slicked her cutlass with a high, wide arch. She watched in horror as her attacker’s arm as well as his cutlass rolled across the deck. She whirled back just in time to see Amalie bearing down on her.

  All about her the air was filled with shouts and screams as metal clanged against metal. Shots seemed to come from nowhere, and most neither knew nor cared whom they were killing and wounding.

  Great black clouds of pungent smoke rolled about the cluster of ships, making visibility almost impossible. Fury rubbed her eyes and backed away to search for firmer footing, all the while intent on the advancing figure of the impostor.

  “I want those diamonds,” Amalie said hoarsely.

  “No,” Fury shouted. “Your days of plundering in the Siren’s name are over. Give quarter now and I’ll spare your life. Prison is better than dying here, with this scurvy lot you call a crew. What’s it to be?”

  “Never!” Amalie brought up her cutlass.

  Slowly Fury raised her own weapon. “So be it,” she said, her voice deadly calm. Flexing her knees and lashing out with a sudden thrust, she drove Amalie backward. Amalie recovered quickly, slashing upward at Fury’s cutlass. Stunned with the force of the blow, Fury stumbled but recovered quickly and jabbed straight for Amalie’s midsection. Daintily she sidestepped, then lashed out again, this time glancing down the side of Amalie’s scarred arm to draw blood.

  Hatred spewed from Amalie’s eyes as she jabbed upward, knocking Fury against the railing. She crouched and with both hands on the cutlass whipped the blade up and down and down again until Fury was bent over the railing, her weapon held crossways in front of her. “I’ll kill you for this, you miserable bitch!” Amalie screamed.

  Suddenly she sensed a presence behind her and dropped to her haunches, swiveling as she lashed upward to drive the weapon from Luis Domingo’s hands. Her shrill laughter echoed off the water as the Spaniard stumbled backward, losing his footing. Immediately two of Amalie’s cutthroats were on him as Fury lashed out, slicing close to her opponent’s skull. She feinted to the right and thrust downward, missing Amalie’s back by a hairbreadth. But the momentum carried her forward, and she slipped and lost her footing, the cutlass flying from her hands. Frantically she scrambled for her weapon as Amalie bore down on her.

  In a sudden burst of speed, Gaspar swooped downward from his perch in the rigging, Pilar in his wake. Wild, shrill screeches ripped from their mouths as Gaspar dove straight for Amalie’s slender back.

  Amalie threw up her arms to ward off the deadly attack, her eyes filled with terror. She shrieked with pain as Gaspar raked her shoulder with his talons. Blood spurted everywhere. Pilar circled around her, her screams more shrill than Gaspar’s. In the blink of an eye she had Fury’s cutlass in her talons, offering it to the young woman as if it were a precious prize.

  With a frenzied shake of his feathers, Gaspar outstripped the wind as he plunged upward in preparation of a killing dive that would render Amalie helpless.

  Breathing raggedly, Fury crouched low as she prepared to leap over the pool of blood. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Luis fighting for his life. “Pilar!” she screamed. “Over there!” She jerked her head in the Spaniard’s direction.

  “This places me in your debt,” Luis called as the hawk distracted his opponent long enough to enable him to heave his cutlass upward in a mighty thrust.

  “They’re leaving!” Fury spat angrily as the governors’ ship hoisted anchor. “They value their precious lives more than they value honor! Dykstra is leaving, too. He wants to live to enjoy his new role as governor. Tell me, señor, whose ship carries the cargo?” Fury demanded raggedly. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re outnumbered. Give it up before more of your men are killed. These scurve will fight to the death!”

  In a makeshift cell in the hold of Luis’s ship, Cato worked at his bonds. Amalie’s scream of terror was still ringing in his ears. Already his wrists and hands were slippery with his own blood, fingers numb with his efforts to free himself. When the rope slid over his hands at last, he leapt up and raced to the galley for the vinegar cask. Up on deck, no one paid him any mind as he leapt over wounded bodies in search of Amalie. Suddenly he stopped, watching in horror. Gaspar, sleek as an arrow, was hovering over Amalie menacingly as Fury approached, cutlass in hand.

  Amalie, one eye on the black bird and the other on Fury, cast away all fear the moment she heard Cato call out to her. Drawing on every ounce of strength left in her body, she lashed out at Fury with her cutlass, knocking the blade from Fury’s hand with unbelievable force. She crouched, feinted, and leapt in the air just as Gaspar’s talons crunched down on her neck. The force of his descent pulled her backward, and as she groped to remain upright, her blade sliced into Gaspar’s chest. The sleek bird dropped to the deck with a cry of pain that pierced Fury to her soul.

  The sound carried on the wind to Pilar, who turned in midair, circling the frenzied melee. Up she swirled, higher and higher, screeching her own cry of pain, then she swooped down, ripping and clawing as she raced back and forth across the bloodied decks.

  “No, Pilar, she’s mine!” screamed Fury, her eyes blinded with tears. The hawk halted and dropped to the deck, her wings feathering out to protect her fallen mate.

  Every curse, every epithet she’d ever heard, ripped from Fury’s snarling mouth. “Kill my bird, will you! I’ll run you through till your blood covers these decks. Murdering bitch! I’ll slice every inch of flesh from your body, I’ll gouge your eyes till you’re blind, and while you’re dying, I’ll laugh! No quarter!” she snarled, her teeth bared in hatred. Luis gawked and moved backward, noticing that the odds of battle had dwindled to his and Fury’s benefit, thanks to the avenging black birds.

  Luis watched, his heart in his mouth, his eyes filled with admiration as Fury battled with Amalie. To his first mate, Julian, he roared, “Drive these cutthroats over the side. There’s to be no interference. No quarter!”

  Glazed, hate-filled eyes glittered at Fury as she slashed out again and again. Up and down the cutlass slicked until Amalie’s blouse was in shreds, her bare breasts exposed to the men on deck. “Whore!” Amalie shrilled, stumbling backward.

  Fury’s blade lashed out again, faster than lightning, curling a streak of rushing blood on the impostor’s breast. “The S is so you’ll remember this moment as you die!” Fury cried, laughing maniacally. Amalie’s blade sliced upward, but she danced nimbly away. “Now, Pilar! Pin her
to the rail!” she screamed as she drove her opponent backward.

  Pilar rose on her talons, her wings fluttering dangerously as she sailed upward to obey her mistress’s command.

  Her breast heaving, Fury brought up her cutlass one last time. Amalie’s weapon dropped to the deck, her hand slick with her own blood. Blood streamed down her face as her mouth spewed obscenities, her bare breasts heaving with the effort it cost her to speak. Suddenly her head was jerked backward as Pilar pulled and tugged. She groped for the rail, trying to unleash the deadly talons holding her prisoner.

  “No! Leave her be! No!” Cato cried as he skidded across the deck, still holding the vinegar cask. He slipped on the blood-slick surface and dropped the cask. Diamonds glittered ruby red as they rolled across the deck.

  “Fool!” Amalie snarled—and in that moment Pilar’s talons drove her over the side.

  Cato’s mad, glittering eyes brought Luis to his side in an instant. “Don’t even think about picking up her weapon,” he snarled.

  With a mighty heave, Cato sailed over the railing to land in the water, searching frantically for a sign of his love. Water bubbled all about him from the cannon shot as he reached out and made contact with a pair of flailing arms.

  It was over.

  Fury was on her knees, her hands cradling Gaspar’s head. “Please, Gaspar, don’t die,” she pleaded. “Not here, like this. I can’t let you give up your life for me. . . . Luis, please help me,” she cried, looking up. “Please! I don’t care about my mother’s secret; you can tell the world, if you’ll only help me. He can’t die. Tell me what to do, please!”

  Luis dropped to his knees, his fingers gentle as he probed the bird’s bony chest. When he raised his eyes he was smiling. “It’s a clean wound, Fury, straight between his ribs. He won’t be able to fly for a while, but he’ll mend. I can fashion a dressing with some ointment to ward off infection. If we can keep him at rest, he’ll live to soar through the heavens again.”