Dead Man's Kiss Page 11

  “I care enough.” He looked away, lost for a moment. “She is in no danger.”

  “She is in danger up to her deadlights,” Valeryn countered. He leaned across his knee toward the princock. “And so are you. Do well not to forget it again.”

  “How does that work for you…the threatening people? I suppose you have much luck among the provincial.” Fraco’s droll attitude was wearing Valeryn’s last nerve threadbare. “But permit me to request you stay it from me, as I do not fall victim to the blustery authority of a dead man.”

  “You keep saying that.” Valeryn lifted his brow. “’Tis as if I was never meant to finish this mission alive.”

  That drew Big John’s attention. “You sayin’ that mayor ain’t gonna set us and Rissa free? He gonna go back on his word?” The big man stopped rowing. He rolled his head round, the crack in his neck was loud enough to be heard over the sloshing of the water against the small boat’s hull. He snarled to his captain. “What’s ta stop me from killin’ ’im right now?”

  “Nothing.” Valeryn smirked, keeping his gaze latched to Montoya. Did he detect a trace of alarm? Probably not, given the wretch didn’t understand how precarious his position was in relevance to Valeryn’s patience, and pistol. “Keep your brain screwed in, mate,” he said to Big John. “If the alcalde meant to hang us, why send us at all? The Brethren would catch wind of his betrayal, and after saving Havana, they’d be upon Matanzas with a vengeance. ’Twould be a massacre. Nay, he has something to gain from this voyage. Even if the bastard isn’t sure what that is. We are fulfilling our part of this commission. He’d have to have a good reason to hang us, and he has none.”

  “Not at the moment,” Fraco said. “But if he were to believe Catalina’s virtue was tarnished.”

  “Not so quick, Montoya,” Valeryn warned. “I’m not above cutting out your tongue and stuffing it down your damn throat.”

  “My father would—”

  The goat spooked again. This time, it threw its head back enough to free itself from the men’s hold. The animal reared and twisted, rocking the boat. The poor beast lost its balance and tumbled overboard. In frantic movements, it kicked at the water, snorting into the waves, desperate to keep its head above the surface.

  “Curse it! Get that goat back in the boat!”

  One of the Spaniards shook his head. Saints be. The cursed fellow didn’t know how to swim. Valeryn shoved at the other one, demanding he fetch the beast.

  “Make haste, Spaniard. These waters are rife with sharks. All that splashing is sure to attract attention.”

  “Damn goat won’t be much good as chum,” Big John muttered.

  He didn’t think the lackey understood. Just as well he be more frightened of Valeryn than a shark or two.

  Valeryn bit back his anger. Against the reason they were forced to drop anchor, putting them several days behind schedule, he had looked forward to the diversion. He expected to regain some sort of control over his ill-fated circumstance. He was to have a nice dinner with a lovely lass, secure supplies and food, and be on their merry way. Instead, his dinner was interrupted, the chandler plucked at the thin strings holding the brethren and Haiti together, he was threatened by not one, but two by-blows, the port was burning to which he would be blamed, and now the damned goat had fallen overboard. Brimstone and ash, he needed a stiff drink.

  They fished the goat out of the bay, rowed back to the ship, hoisted the animal up, and boarded. All the crewmen were accounted for and the fair visitors gone. The lads were unfurling sails, latching braces, and stowing the goods they pilfered. With bellies and cocks sated, and the blood-rush of plunder and escape, the men were excitable, in good humor, putting their backs into their work. Valeryn was damn glad he had outfitted the ship with more guns before noon, before rewarding the men with strumpets for their incredible hard and fast work. Having the guns loaded before daylight helped keep suspicion and questions at bay. Having them already secured to the ship meant they could sail without worry of them dangerously rolling around as they sailed out of Île-à-Vache. Especially now with a riot. Riot.

  Valeryn climbed to the quarterdeck and barked out the heading before turning to the gunwale. At the end of the bay, the small town was in an upheaval. The fire had spread, so had the fighting. The tiny port had enjoyed peace even as many of the occupants were shady characters. Well, no more. ’Twould take a heavy hand and peaceful alliances to repair what had been damaged. It went beyond a few fire-ravaged buildings, a few stolen goods. The brethren would be blamed. He would be blamed. Once a safe haven for pirates, ’twould be a long time before they’d be welcome back, if at all.

  Bloody hell! Somebody would pay. Dearly!

  He let out a grueling roar.

  “Henri!” Valeryn whirled around to the ship’s waist. “Henri! Get your arse up here! Henri!”

  By the time the old barnacle made it up the ladder and planted his stumpy self and cane before him, Valeryn was shaking with anger.

  “I’m here, I’m here,” Henri spat. “Quit yer, damned hollerin’.”

  “Who gave the order to start a riot? Was it you?” He would never strike Henri. Not even if Henri struck him first. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to throttle the life out of him.

  “Stow yer voice, son.” Henri’s scowl dredged deeper. “Best you settle down. I didn’t start it. Harrumph. Ya hands be in irons over this one.”

  “Henri,” Valeryn warned, “I’m not of the mind to play your games.” He pointed his finger with a stab at his head.

  Henri smacked his cane to the floorboard in a bout of frustration. “Catalina, ya fool. She be the one to set off the riot.”

  ’Twas like a slap to his mug. Catalina? What? How? Incoherent thoughts swarmed his head. Did Fraco put her up to it?

  “’Tweren’t on purpose, mind ya. The lassie gave the wrong ’pression to a few fishermen.”

  “’Twas an accident?”

  “Aye, ya could say that.”

  Who would ever believe that a bit of fluff, even one as bold as she, could start a riot. Nay. It didn’t matter. He—a known pirate the seas over, leaving a burning port, goods taken—he would be blamed. Henri was right. He had his hands shackled over this one. He would have to take the fall for the destruction.

  “Who else knows this?”

  “Anyone within earshot, suppose. She been apologizing ta anyone willin’ ta listen.”

  A knot the size of a holystone wedged in his gut. He was angry. Angry at her. It would take just one set of loose lips to reveal enough truth to get her into trouble…with the brethren, and with anyone wanting to strike at the brethren. She weakened a foothold for Caribbean pirates. The potential loss of allies as well as unsuspecting lives, friend or foe, would not go overlooked. Yet, he would not let harm befall her at the hands of his brothers. The realization startled him. That he would go against his brothers, his family, to protect a woman he hardly knew was unthinkable. So why would he?

  He wandered to the railing overlooking the ship to spy his little firebrand. Catalina was talking with Fraco near the capstan, half hidden behind the mast. The bottom half of her skirts were wet and she was missing a shoe from her small feet. When she glanced up and caught Valeryn’s sight, she edged further behind the pole. He snorted. As if he couldn’t still see her. Her hands frantically waved about with her fast-moving lips. Fraco’s signature smirk, coupled with nods and head-shaking, was exceptionally annoying as he encouraged her explanations. Those two were the devil’s thorns in his arse.

  “Ya know ya have to do somethin’,” Henri said.

  “I know.” Valeryn could not let her mistake go unpunished. It would undermine him as captain and ignore the pirate creed he dearly upheld. Aye, shackled and bound, he was.

  “Miss Montoya.” His voice boomed across the ship.

  Heads came together with whispers as she hobbled her way through the crew. Halfway through, she stooped to remove her one shoe. She came to a halt below him, her hands clasped together ho
lding the lone slipper.

  “Capitán.” She addressed him with much more poise than she demonstrated behind the mast.

  “Am I to understand you are responsible for the riot?”

  She bowed her head. “Sí.” Her admittance was hardly audible. Slowly, she lifted her pleading eyes. “Not by design.”

  “A monumental err, lass.” He took a deep breathe through his nostrils, steadying his acrimony. “Alas, now this ship, these men, and any pirate seeking safe harbor cannot do so at Île-à-Vache.”

  Her back stiffened. “But ’twas all a misunderstanding.”

  “Be that as it may, word otherwise will travel far and fast. You have upset a delicate balance my brethren have spent years developing and nurturing.” That wasn’t entirely true. The balance had already been disrupted by Hébert. But Catalina’s unfortunate slip of the tongue tipped the scales all the way. “For this, you must atone.”

  “But how?”

  “A punishment of my choosing, to start.”

  Her shoulders relaxed a margin. Seemed she was looking forward to disciplinary action as much as he. But were her other misdeeds really misdeeds at all? Under Fraco’s influence, freeing him was what she thought was best. That punishment should be voided. Of course that didn’t mean he couldn’t collect. She may not be aware he was now privy to Fraco’s tricks. He could get quite creative with what he could make the lass do.

  Nay. This was far more serious. He couldn’t turn a blind eye and dally with her behind the closed door of his quarters. Not before, not now, not ever. Valeryn dragged his gaze that somehow had landed upon her luscious bosom away to the curious gathering men. The crew needed to witness her atonement. They needed to know their captain delivered swift justice.

  “You will clean every pot, bowl, dish, and utensil after each shift’s meal.”

  That knocked the wind from her sails.

  “And you will record a detailed list of what was brought on board, as well as document what happened on Île-à-Vache, and keep a log for the remaining of the journey.”

  “But shouldn’t the capitán keep the log?”

  He bristled under her question. ’Twas innocent enough, yet it prodded him like a hot poker. “I want the inventory brought to me by the first watch bell,” he said. “That’s eight o’clock.”

  She flinched at the harsh command he bit out. Still, she lengthened her neck and met his hard stare with one of her own. “As you wish, Capitán Barone.”

  Not waiting for a dismissal, she ducked into the hatch and disappeared below deck.

  Infuriated, he scanned the dirty, nameless faces. The display was for their benefit. Damn all, did they even realize it?

  “What are you men standing off and on for?” he lambasted. “Back to work!”

  They scurried to their duties, not a word spoken amongst them. All but one. Fraco. The bastard was like a splinter. Small, insignificant, and an annoying ache he wished to ignore.

  Valeryn climbed down the ladder and paused at the bottom. Side by side to the gnat, he didn’t bother looking at him as he spoke. “Stay out of my quarters, Montoya. I will not hesitate to blow your head off.”

  He turned and stepped through the hatch, intent on pouring that stiff drink.

  Valeryn pushed the maps aside and dragged his hands down his face. He was weary from looking over the bloody charts for so long, searching for the ideal places to drop anchor along the chain of Los Roques islands. He needed to give Catalina the best spots to do her cataloguing in the shortest amount of time to make it back to Matanzas on their scheduled date of arrival. He had no idea what she wanted to draw or journal, what kind of plants or creatures she was after, but he decided the larger islands would be best for variety. He also needed to pay close attention to the many reefs and shoals surrounding the archipelago. ’Twould be disastrous should they damage the ship, run aground, or worse, sink. They’d be lost, and so would Rissa and her crew. He wished he could guarantee he’d keep that from happening. But he couldn’t. He’d failed before. Was likely he’d fail again.

  He stared into the yellow flame of the candle lighting his desk. So much at stake. All his fault. All of it down to the riot on Cow Island. Had he controlled himself that night in the tavern more than a fortnight ago, listened to Henri’s warning, and not gotten into a brawl with Diego, none of this would have happened. He blinked, his eyes burning from staring at the glow of the candle’s tiny, steady blaze. He had to fix the damage. Finish this mission. Take control of Rissa again. Sail back to Île-à-Vache, and straighten things out there. Either by coming to a mutual understanding with Hébert, or, even better, eradicating him from the island, though the latter would cause unwanted attention from France. Unless he simply disappeared. Fortunately, Valeryn was good at making people disappear. But would that be in the brethren’s best interest? He wouldn’t know unless he found out for sure why the sudden interest in the port.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. None of it mattered if his crew decided to vote him out of being the Rissa’s captain. First, he had to make it out of this alive.

  Above deck, the second dog watch bells clanged heralding the beginning of the first watch. No sooner had the last bell rang, there was a knock at the door. He unlocked it and opened it to Catalina clutching the logbook to her chest. Big John was leaning his shoulder against the wall behind her, a keen smile upon his mug.

  “Cutting it close, eh, lass?”

  “You will excuse my near tardiness, no? I am new to being a quartermaster.” She stepped past him and entered his cabin with a flourish.

  He raised an eyebrow at Big John. The beefy jack tar snickered as he pushed off the wall and disappeared down the companionway. He shut and locked the door to prevent any unwanted interruptions. “Quartermaster?”

  “Sí.” She turned to face him. “That is the assignment you handed me, is it not?”

  “There is much more to being a quartermaster than overseeing what lies in the hold.”

  “And I am certain I can fulfill the duties.”

  He couldn’t help but admire her confidence. “That, dear one, I greatly doubt.”

  “Why? I am fair and honest. I can manage logs and wages.” She dropped the logbook upon his desk. “And I think you will find my meticulous recordkeeping more than meets satisfaction.”

  “We shall see. But what of swinging the cat?”

  Her delicate eyebrows scrunched together. “There is a cat on board?”

  Valeryn stamped down a grin. “Cat o’nines. As in the whip with nine, knotted leather thongs. Could you lash a man’s bare back? Flay open his skin? Hear the crack of the whip, the split of flesh, the agony of his cries?” This he knew all too well, being on both sides of the cat.

  Her cheeks paled. He’d have been lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching her squirm. “A quartermaster does more than write numbers in a log.”

  “I see.” Her voice eked out the words.

  “You assumed that was the captain’s job?”

  She nodded, aware of her mistake.

  “Only when the guilty one is a fair Spanish troublemaker.”

  She scrambled around the desk. “Terribly sorry for my assumption, Capitán. It will not happen again.” She opened the logbook. “Let me show you the inventory. I think you will find—”

  Valeryn shut the book. Surprised, Catalina slowly met his gaze. Emotions swam in her dark eyes—fear, uncertainty, desire. Desire he wanted to tap into and explore. Her brazen attempts to remain in control despite her slip-ups, her struggle to tame her fears, her drive to get what she wanted, were as essential to her as her next breath. ’Twas a heady attraction to him. He wanted to seek out the reason why.

  Why had this woman stirred so much uncertainty, curiosity, rebellion within him? Rebellion... ’Twas in his nature, in his blood. She was what he could not have, forbidden to have. His life depended upon her success on this voyage, a voyage he was forced to take. Urges to revolt against what he was expected to do, and what he was expecte
d not to do yanked at the bridle reining him.

  “The inventory can wait.” His voice sounded rough to his ears.

  “I’d rather it not,” she said. “I’m still to clean the dishes.”

  “Knowing the work involved in recording inventory, tonight’s dishes are taken care of. You will not be needed in the galley until tomorrow morning.”

  She blew out a sigh of relief. The day’s excitement had worn her ragged. He could see it in the shadows forming beneath her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to start trouble,” she said. “But I accept responsibility.”

  Catalina did it again. Taking the brunt of burden without so much of a flutter of eyelash. “You must understand that I cannot dismiss your actions, even as those actions were not with deliberate intent.”

  “Sí. Entiendo. And I am sure mi tio would make certain I am held to the utmost accountability. Fraco would see to it.”

  For a brief moment, he imagined the alcalde denying Catalina any more serious pursuits, grounding her to life in Cuba as nothing more than a nuisance. With her spirit and inquisitiveness dampened, she’d whittle away in boredom and likely lose her mind to idleness. Her vibrant glow would dim.

  “They need not concern themselves. I have made it clear no one on this ship is above reparations. You will pay your debt to me in full. Of this, there is no doubt.”

  Apprehension flitted in her expression. She was unsure if he meant the duties she was given, or if he’d returned to flirtations. She faltered, her fingers skimming the top of the journal. “And that is why I’m here, Capitán,” she said, though her voice was less sure than before.

  “We are behind closed doors, Catalina. Is this how I asked you to address me?”

  Her lush lips curved. “The lines of familiarity are often blurred so that I am unsure of my station with you…Valeryn.”

  Valeryn’s groin twitched as his name unfurled from her lips, like dewy, pink rose petals opening to accept the warm rays of the giving sun. He loved the way she rolled each syllable in the back of her throat.

  He moved close and cupped her chin. “Where do you want it to be?”