A Kiss in the Wind Page 10

  Blade found it easy to locate the man he sought. A wide berth had been given to the table at which he sat with his cronies near the rear of the tavern, his back to the wall. Crocodiles lying in wait for any hapless soul to wander too close. Amused with the perceived danger, Blade crossed the room.

  “Captain Tyburn.” A voice as sweet as nectar called to him.

  “Kate. My darling, Kate.” Blade smiled at the petite brunette who sashayed up to him and gave his arse a playful squeeze. Her ginger-colored dress fit snug along all the luscious curves he so fondly remembered, mapping out every soft detail.

  “Tell me, my valiant prince, that you’ve come to my alehouse for a bit of personal pleasure. It’s been far too long since we last parted.” She ran her fingers along his biceps, a caress he had missed.

  “That it has.” Kate was a jewel in the Spanish Main, a real vision of beauty with an unbridled skill to match. Never had Blade been more gratified by a woman than with her. But tonight, Kate’s beacon of light did not gleam so brightly. “Regrettable it is, but my visit is purely business.”

  “’Tis a shame.” Her wayward hand boldly continued downward to the front of his breeches, stirring a titillating arousal, then slowly up again to rest upon his abdomen. “I’ve missed your company.”

  “I must admit escaping with thoughts of you during my long travels. Your image has often brought me a welcomed relief.” Her hearty laugh eased the trouble from his mind and he, for a moment with her touch, slipped from the turmoil which surged through his life since a certain fluttering dove fell headlong on top of him.

  Marisol. His senses returned with the force of a breaking tidal wave. He shifted his weight away, away from Kate’s distractive contact.

  “What is the word on yesterday’s raid?” He had to get back to the matters at issue. “Who was behind it?”

  “Ah, yes,” she chimed. “Some say it was Carrion’s men. But Carrion denies any involvement.”

  “Aye, so he does.” Blade began to believe this was bigger than Carrion. No one would risk losing their life over any small gains in Puerto Plata. Something else lay in the muck.

  “I trust you took care of my man Lansky?”

  “Aye. He’s been set up with your provisions.” She shook her head. “The world is full of corrupt men. Even the pious are tainted. But you, you are a good and decent man.”

  “A lie.”

  Kate rested her hand on his chest. “You have a heart of gold, Blade.”

  She couldn’t be farther from the truth. His heart beat cold and black. A cameo proved it so. He wondered now if he would ever hold it again. Hold the one thing that kept him from ever forgetting the past. From forgetting what he had become.

  He removed her hand and brought it to his lips, planting a kiss. “Thank you for your help, dear lady. You will be compensated for your secrecy.” A guarantee that he would be able to depend on her. Now and in the future. Free-handed wealth was a persuasive tool. No one was immune from its glittering allure.

  “I’d rather you come to my bed.”

  “Consider that a debt I will be happy to pay during another visit, with added interest.” He bowed. “Until then, darling.” He left her standing there with a smile of unchaste anticipation. Though he meant every word, he had a queer feeling that he would never lie with Kate again. The reason clipped at the recesses of his mind but disappeared as he reached the table in the back of the room.

  “Captain Thayer Drake.” Blade addressed the man who wore his tricorn hat low on his brow, hiding his eyes. Blade didn’t need to see his expression. The menacing malignity hung heavy in the air surrounding him. His men at the table repositioned themselves in their chairs so they might draw their weapons more easily. Blade sized up the four of them with a sweeping challenge. Should they draw, he would take out the man to the left of Drake. He wagered by his relaxed posture, leaning back into his chair, that this man was the faster, more deadly of Drake’s pestilent companions. The others he could take down in turn. Should he need to, of course. But Drake was not a foolish man.

  “I’ve been expecting you.” He did not look up from his tankard.

  “I imagine you would be. Now that our profit has gone missing.”

  Drake’s men rose quickly, knocking back chairs and readying to arm. Drake put up a hand to stay them. “Leave us,” he commanded. “You too, Valeryn.” His mate gave Blade a piercing eye. He rose to join the others, grunting out his disapproval.

  As the men left, Drake pushed out a chair with his foot. “A joy to see you again, my friend.”

  Blade took the proffered seat. “And you, as well. ’Tis been some time since we last crossed wakes. Speak to me your tidings.”

  “Better than our brethren with the hemp fittings.”

  “Aye. A damned disgrace, it is.”

  “What happened out there?”

  Drake thumbed his hat up on his forehead. Dark circles hung low under his red-rimmed eyes. He looked tired, mad and mean. And he was drunk.

  “We were befooled under the cover of darkness. Following at two leagues by the foretop lantern. On middle watch, the light disappeared. Once we spotted it again, it wasn’t until morning we realized we’d been following the wrong vessel. A merchantman called the Sugar Lady.”

  Blade bristled at the name. The Sugar Lady again. Warning bells clanged in his ears. He would need to find out where the vessel had headed.

  “We turned back but couldn’t locate the Gloria. Thought it best to come to Puerto Plata and give you my account. Lest you think I went rogue.” He chuckled, amused by his own irony. “Well, any more than I already am.”

  Blade related to Drake. Accursed men, they were. An incongruity among pirates. “I’ve landed the Gloria. She had neither crew nor cargo. I’m looking to get some answers.”

  “I can help you there.” Drake pulled a swallow from his ale. “We plucked us a few barnacles out of the water. Said they were part of the Gloria’s crew.”

  A serving wench stopped at their table. She smiled shyly at Blade. He took a tankard from her tray and winked at her. She giggled and she rushed to another blushing maid waiting by the bar.

  “What did the lads say happened?” He returned Drake’s attention from the wench’s backside to their conversation.

  “Wouldn’t say. Only that they were spared.” Drake focused back on Blade. “Clammed up tight. Two of ’em anyway. The third crowing princock wouldn’t mind his tongue, practically begged for a beating with his back talk.”

  “So they were boarded.” Just as Blade suspected.

  “Aye.”

  They were spared. That doesn’t make sense.

  “There was no sign of a struggle. It would’ve taken time to unload that silver. Why not take the vessel? Why would three seamen be cast out only to leave an entire ship drifting?”

  “Something smells foul,” Drake agreed.

  Blade thought on this, taking a deep quaff of his ale. Its warmth and bitter taste slid down his throat. He welcomed the heavy-bodied brew, heartily finishing it off. Yet with the way his night had been shaping up, he’d rather enjoy a strong whiskey to dull the edges.

  “Carrion is in these waters.” He motioned to the serving wench to bring a fresh tankard.

  If black had been a light, it shone bright across Drake’s face at the mention of the erratic pirate. And with reason. Carrion was known by all who sailed the Caribbean as a murderous scab. The man set about to surpass the legacy of Blackbeard. In Blade’s opinion, the pirate had a long voyage ahead.

  “Ah. I’d like to pipeclay that bastard. He needs to be put in his place,” Drake said. “Do you suspect he’s behind this?”

  “When has Carrion not been suspect? He’s ignored the pirate code countless times. We only put up with him for when we need his guns.”

  “To hell with him and his guns,” spat Drake. “I’ve managed fine without him and I don’t have a need for a rotten traitor.”

  “Up for a cast about, then?”

 
“Always, mate. No one makes a mockery of me.”

  “The man foolish enough to cross the brethren will pray for the devil to take him. He will show more mercy.” Blade clanked his tankard in a toast with Drake then swallowed his ale.

  “How about those men you picked up? What did you do with them?”

  “Saved them for you, my friend. Truth is, I’d have been inclined to feed ’em to the sharks had I not thought you’d want to take a crack at them.”

  Drake inclined his head to a point beyond Blade’s shoulder. Blade turned in his seat to peer at a table across the room. Three men huddled around their ale while two others sat at guard. The seamen kept their downcast eyes on Drake. With a quick wave of his hand, the men rose to the command. The guards unnecessarily prodded and shoved them forward until they stood before their table.

  “Don’t be so rude, gentlemen,” Drake said. “Introduce yourselves to Captain Tyburn.”

  Blade looked to each man in turn. They were a pitiful parcel of lackeys, unkempt and wild-eyed. He wondered if these lads had seen more than a month’s time at sea.

  One of Drake’s men popped a fellow upside his head. “Well, go on. Tell the captain yer name.”

  “Rip McLaughlin.” The man nodded his head in greeting as he rubbed at the spot where he’d been smacked.

  “William Bell.” The next man spoke without hesitation. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  The last man stared hard at Blade, unmoving. Contempt roiled in the depths of his dark eyes. Intimidation hardly ever worked on Blade but the man seemed determined to do just that, capping it off with a disgusted frown.

  This man must have been the one with the loose flapper. Seemed he had nothing to say now.

  Blade recognized the type. A man with something to prove. Usually this kind of fellow was too arrogant and thick-skulled to know his proper place among the hierarchy of men. A fatal mistake for most. Would this dog know enough to keep his life?

  Now was as good a time as any to find out. “Remove your hat, lad,” Blade said, “and address me.”

  Making no move to comply, the miscreant continued to stare at Blade.

  His crew on the Rissa was a loyal bunch of tars. Rarely had anyone flouted him or his command. So unused to disrespect, Blade narrowed his eyes on his offender while anger dissolved his usual good nature.

  He rose slowly from his chair and crossed to stand an arm’s length from the bloody fool. “I said, remove your hat, boy.”

  Still, the man remained motionless.

  Blade drew a pistol from his brace and aimed it within an inch of the man’s mouth. “Let’s try this again.” He pulled back the hammer. “Remove your hat and address me.”

  To anyone watching, it would seem the fool would take the bullet before speaking. In fact, the tavern had grown quiet as if the whole building held its breath, waiting for the explosive pop of Blade’s gun.

  But Blade picked up on the young man’s fear. It glinted quickly through his black pupils, before being chased away by indecision, but it had surely been there. The fellow reached up to swipe his hat off his head.

  “Good man.” He lowered his gun. “Now, your name.”

  “Monte. Montenegro Castellan.”

  The lad might as well have kicked Blade in the stomach. He’d have been less surprised by the impact. The rules of this game had just changed.

  Chapter Eight

  “He’s outta his bloody mind if he thinks I’ll pay that price for a barrel of pork.”

  Henri and Marisol walked outside the chandler’s storefront and down to the corner of the street. The lantern hanging from the post cast an illuminating pool around them. Marisol had listened to the cook haggle with the shopkeeper to the point of name-calling. Yet, Henri did not threaten him with what he could take. Pirates have a way with convincing people to be generous through fierce intimidation. With all the tales of the feared Rissa, one would think a member of her crew would ravage and pilfer whatever they wanted from whomever. Instead, Henri sputtered obscenities and hobbled away.

  “You’d think they used up all the bloody pigs puttin’ out fires.” He scratched at his wiry beard, his bows tightly knotted for the occasion to come ashore. “Why, I oughta…” Letting out a resigned sigh, he huffed over his shoulder. “Rook.”

  Marisol produced a ripe mango from her woolen pants pocket. He eyed the fruit, then her. His scrubby brows hung like drooping eaves over his wary scrutiny. “Where’d ya get that?”

  She shrugged. “I hate crooked merchants.” She handed him the mango. “Especially ones who cheat hardworking folks out of their money.”

  A smile slowly broke through his bearded chin. “Aye. None other are as hardworkin’ as we.”

  Shopping with Henri for provisions had been a welcome distraction. Blade hadn’t left her to stew in her grief. She needed to be with someone, not be alone by herself to brood into a woebegone waste. He understood that when he sent her to the crotchety little man. Something else to appreciate about the pirate captain.

  But just to ensure she didn’t run off, he had Sam remain close by. She glanced over at the looming pirate at the edge of the ring of light. Positioning himself to take up as much space as any one man possibly could, he stood hulking with his massive tree logs crossed. Amazing those arms could even make ends meet over the expanse of his chest.

  “Doesn’t he ever talk?”

  “Sam’s a man of sparing words,” replied Henri.

  What he lacked in speech he made up for in brawn. Did Blade believe her to be dangerous enough to require his bulk to keep in line? The crazy thought gave her a momentary lapse of relief.

  Yet even poking through foodstuffs with a coifed troll couldn’t stop the sands of despair from sifting through her. Nothing had seemed real. She felt empty. A shell. Without Monte and now Luc, she was nothing more than a shell.

  The life of a pirate was short indeed. Luc and Monte had accepted that inevitable fact when they joined Alain. She had too, not wanting to be left behind like her mother. Dried herbs were fine but she didn’t belong onshore. She didn’t want to waste her life planted on soil. She traded it for the rocking swells of the sea.

  It had been a dirty trick, one he never fully appreciated, but she trapped Alain into taking her along onboard with her brothers. For one voyage, a short one. Not a man of sympathy, she convinced him she would have no meaningful livelihood at home pruning and drying plants. What adventures could she possibly have without her brothers? The excess rum which she made sure filled his bottomless cup had helped. He had been so drunk they were well under sail before he realized he’d been duped.

  Two years later, she still sailed with him. She’d proved her worth, shared in the profits and seen many perish. Death had been indiscriminate and came often. But never so close to her own kindred.

  Empty. She didn’t even remember taking the fruit. Under normal circumstances, that feat would send a bolt of giddy excitement bucking through her. Not this time. Her brother was gone. She was angry. And there was no one to blame.

  She retrieved another mango from its hiding place and then bent to draw out a small knife from under her pants leg.

  “Criminy.” Henri gestured to the weapon she used to slice the mango’s orange-yellow skin. “Tyburn know about that?”

  “What? This?” She cut the mango into square chunks. “Does he need to?”

  “He’ll take it from ya.”

  “I’ll just get another.” She popped a piece into her mouth. The juice tasted thick on her tongue.

  “I reckon ya will.”

  She held up a chunk as an offer to Sam, still brooding nearby. His grunt shook the boulder that sat on top of his neck, no.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you like fruit?”

  He grunted again.

  “He prefers raw, steaming flesh,” Henri said.

  “That so? I’d say he likes something sweeter.” Taking the final mango from her pocket, she tossed it to Sam. He snatched it from the
air and recrossed his arms, giving her a subtle nod. She nodded back, the gratitude duly noted.

  A rowdy bunch of men rounded a corner across the way from the three of them. Scruff of collar, singing terribly and waving around brown bottles of liquor, they shoved and stumbled along the sidewalk toward their small group. As they neared, one caught sight of Marisol. He held out an arm to stop his comrades.

  “My, oh my,” the man said. “Isn’t she a pearl of a girl, lads? An hour with her and I be a broke bastard.”

  “Ha, poor lass would be powerfully disappointed. She’d be cheated after three minutes,” one fellow quipped.

  “Lucky she’d be is more like it,” another said.

  The men laughed and jostled about. Their good humor fell flat with Marisol. She had no use for their boorish fun and knew well enough how the encounter with them would end.

  The drunk fool came forward and made a mocking bow before her. Sour booze permeated the air as he pulled himself upright, swaying from the quick movement. “How about it, sweetling? Want to find out how long we go for a few coins?”

  “What you seek would cost you far more than what you carry to compensate for—” her eyes dropped to his crotch, “—what you so obviously lack.”

  The liquor hadn’t flooded his mind enough to miss her meaning. “Mercy me, a smartin’ hussy.”

  Beside her, Henri bristled. His little body seemed to grow as if every hair and whisker on his body stood on end, puffing out like a threatened alley cat. “You fellas need to move on,” he warned.

  “Isn’t that something? The dwarf here is telling us to shove off. Whatcha goin’ to do? Punch me in the kneecap?” Their laughter filled the night.