A Kiss in the Wind Read online

  Damned if he hadn’t stirred up a long dead emotion. Compassion.

  Bah! Compassion was for the weak.

  However, she couldn’t overlook the fact Blade showed considerable compassion. He was far from weak. On the contrary, he appeared to be more powerful than any other man she had ever been acquainted with, including Alain.

  Alain. Oh God. He mustn’t know about Blade. Alain would kill him. Quite possibly, kill them both. What had she done?

  “I should go.”

  “Aye.” Blade let his hand drop away.

  He would let her go so easily? After what they shared, after what he did with her, to her? A painful knot constricted in her chest.

  He rolled out of bed and slipped back into his breeches.

  No. No feeling of remorse. She wouldn’t allow it. And absolutely no shame.

  Gliding off the mattress, she gathered her clothes and redressed. He poured himself a tankard of ale from the table and watched her over the rim of the cup while she slipped on her shoes. He did nothing as she picked up her knives, shrugging when she replaced them in their proper hiding places. Infuriating! She wanted to scream at him for his flippancy. How dare he no longer see her as a threat. Ooh!

  Her heart sank once she reached his door. He had said nothing to her. The cool metal of the doorknob diverged from the humid cabin around her. The smell of copulation and spent candle stained the air, a hint of their unity minutes earlier. She didn’t want to leave without him saying something, anything. She looked over her shoulder at him. If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn she saw sadness in his eyes. Was that because of what they had done? Or was he thinking of his lost cameo? Either way, she was to blame.

  “Well, good night, then.” What else could she say?

  “Good night, dove.”

  * * *

  The door closed with a soft click. Blade let out an audible sigh in his cup and swallowed the rest of his drink. What in the name of all that was holy had gotten into him? Why had he let that happen? Bedding the woman. Here, in his cabin. He turned to the tousled bed. The only place he kept for himself, his safe haven. A place where he dreamed, suffered alone.

  He sank down in his chair and picked up the candle off the desk. The yellowed tallow had congealed its waxy drippings. A cavity along the burnt wick testified that much of the stick had been used up. Marisol’s yelps and moans as he trickled the wax onto her creamy skin still reverberated in his ears.

  Sins of flesh. The more iniquitous, the sweeter the deed and it always had been worth it. It would someday be the death of him. He enjoyed women more than he should, and too often, too easily. But enjoy them he did. Admittedly, his appetite for a woman’s body teetered on greedy and insatiable.

  Yet with Marisol, that delectable creature, the desire had been furious. So strong, their passion. He wanted to hurt her with his lovemaking, be rough with her. Enact a gratifying punishment for her intolerable wrongdoing. She had enjoyed it as much as he. The bonny lass was a rare and delightful surprise.

  He stiffened as he remembered the feel of her supple skin, the sounds of her uneven breathing, and the taste of her drenched core. She was something he had never imagined. He couldn’t put it to words, but she stirred something within him.

  Damn it! He slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair, clamping tight to the candle. She collapsed the crusty stronghold of his number one rule. Never in his bed.

  Oh, she had tried to lead him away from his refuge, rattle him from his sanctuary, and lay claim to him in the bed he shared with no one. She tried with those carnal eyes and provocative smile. She tried when she reached between their naked bodies to take him in her hand. It had been laborious to stop her. No doubt she would have brought him to his knees.

  He snorted. As if he would relinquish his control to her. No. He deprived her of that victory. His bedchamber, his terms.

  Damn her!

  * * *

  “Does he let you wander alone around his ship at night?”

  Marisol looked up from the black water below. Monte leaned next to her on the railing, bringing her back from distant thoughts. She had spent the better part of the half hour oscillating between dreamy fantasies of Blade and bloody humiliation-fueled anger.

  “Does it matter if he didn’t?”

  Monte smiled. “No. I suppose not. You aren’t one for doing as you’re told. You continually kept Luc and I busy covering your hide.”

  “At least I staved off boredom.” They shared a quiet laugh, but it ended all too soon.

  “Why didn’t you send word?” She tilted her head to see his face better. The Rissa’s lanterns had been extinguished for the night and she couldn’t see her brother clearly in the dark. “Why didn’t you let us know you were alive?”

  “Nothing would have changed. Alain had made a decision.” He had snarled out Alain’s name. “You know he never changes his mind. He took his ship and left Matanzas and he didn’t look back.”

  “He thought you were dead,” she said. She understood Monte feeling abandoned but something more malicious lay in his harsh tone. “If you would have sent word, I’m certain he—”

  “Don’t bother, Marisol. We both know Alain cut his losses.” He spat to the planks. “To hell with Alain.”

  Blame him for his resentment, she could not. She had her own to keep in check. Like it or not, Alain was her master. He’d given her access to the sea. For that, she would continue to serve him. At least until the day she procured her own ship and crew.

  Monte stared out across the bay at the anchored Gloria. The mood had made a notable shift. One she could not entirely miss. One that made her feel…uncomfortable.

  “He means to send you with the Gloria,” she said.

  He nodded. So Blade had already spoken to Monte of their plans. She shouldn’t be surprised.

  “You’ll be her captain.”

  He nodded again. In the dark, she couldn’t gauge him. But she knew him well enough.

  “If you vanish with her, how will I find you?”

  He turned to face her. Even without the benefit of light, Marisol saw the flash of his spiteful smile. Aye, he was a Castellan man through and through. A conniving pirate with unscrupulous designs. He might even make a father proud.

  “Don’t you fear, dear sister. I will find you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Damn if it wasn’t hot. Blade took his green kerchief and wiped at the sweat stinging his eyes, then tied it tightly around his forehead to protect against the harsh midday sun. The brittle wind left his skin tight and parched. Grueling heat scorched so that even the wooden rails of his ship burned to the touch. He shielded his eyes to view the bright sea, taking note of the two distant vessels in his wake.

  The three ships had set sail early in the morn, before the break of dawn, leaving Puerto Plata for what Blade hoped would be the last time. Once they reached the Mona Passage, he and Drake would head for Puerto Rico and the wayward Sugar Lady. Monte would take the Gloria down along the coast of Hispaniola to avoid the deadly currents and return to Santo Domingo.

  Although he told Monte he would recommend him as a captain to Windham upon returning, his gut told him the boy likely had other plans. Blade was no fool. The arrogant dolt knew more than he was telling. Monte refused to give any information about what happened on the Gloria, claiming he saw nothing. He and his cohorts had been blindfolded and set adrift. A lie. To what purpose would someone kill off or suppress prisoners only to let three go? And leaving a ship behind? No purpose Blade could imagine. Unless, of course, they both were meant to be found. But why? These questions bounced around in his head.

  He couldn’t be bothered with the minor details of a scheming dog. His mission was the silver, which he would find. Let the little arse cross him. He expected it.

  Blade hadn’t become a successful pirate by being naïve. Rules to live by: Never be unarmed. Never give a man your back. Anticipate your foe’s next move. And know when to show no mercy. Monte was uni
mportant. But his sister? Perhaps Blade should apply these same rules to her.

  His thoughts meandered to their tryst the night before instead of centering on what lay ahead. Blissful memories ousted the edgy thrill of sniffing out prey. That annoyed the hell out of him. In part because of the space Marisol invaded. But truly, nothing should get in the way of a good ole dirty pursuit. Oh, but those beautiful eyes, fine pair of breasts, supple hips…

  “Capt’n? Did you hear me?”

  “Hmm? Um, no. What is it, Willie?”

  “Smoke. Gunfire. Someone’s having a party without us.”

  Blade heard it, the next blast. He’d been so distracted with ruttish reflections, he hadn’t noticed the low rumble of round shot blasted from shipboard guns. On the near horizon, two ships engaged in a sea battle.

  “One of ours?” he asked.

  “I reckon that depends.” Willie passed a spyglass to Blade’s waiting hand.

  Blast after blast sparked the gun smoke that hung between the two ships. He scanned the masts of the ships for their colors.

  “Of course. Sablewing. Carrion’s brigantine.” He groaned. What was the renegade up to now? “Who the hell is the other ship?” he muttered. “A red flag. Do you recognize the ensign?”

  “Nay, Capt’n. I thought you might.”

  Blade had not seen the skeletal hand and sword flag before amongst the brotherhood. A buccaneer invading these waters was either a newcomer or immeasurably stupid.

  “Looks as if Carrion is getting a right good flog.” Carrion’s ship had taken several direct hits. Shattered rails and a damaged mizzenmast had the vessel faltering to hold her own.

  Blade spun around and looked past the stern on the larboard quarter. Drake sailed at some distance behind with Monte and the Gloria off to the right. The Rissa would be upon the ongoing battle long before Drake.

  “We’ll be on them handsomely, sir. Are we to intervene?”

  “Clear for quarters and look for my signal. There may be no need to engage. If we get close enough and the fighting doesn’t end, we’ll send a warning shot to Carrion’s offender.” He scratched his chin and chuckled. “With any luck, we’ll accidentally hit the Sablewing.”

  “’Twould be a shame.” Willie laughed as he left to give the orders.

  After another look through the lens, Blade followed Willie down to the ship’s waist. Excitement vaulted through him. Leaning over the rail, they had sailed close enough to see clearly the silhouettes of the battling ships. He almost prayed for a stray shot to splinter the Rissa just so he could join in the affray. Aw, hell. Why wait? It’d been a while since the lads had seen any real action.

  He called out to Willie. “Make ready. No mercy given to either ship.”

  Willie smiled and nodded. “Make ready,” he yelled to the men, repeating the orders.

  “Wait!” Marisol grabbed Blade by the arm, turning him to face her. He frowned at her sudden appearance. Wild trepidation skipped across her eyes. “You can’t.”

  “And why not?”

  She pointed to the Sablewing. “Because if you destroy that ship, you lose your cameo.”

  Did he hear her right? Blood rushed to his head with a flash of pulsing anger. Grabbing her arms, he jerked her close. “What did you say?”

  “That is the ship I sail with.” Her chin lifted a fraction with her words. “Your cameo is on the Sablewing.”

  A shell ripped across the Rissa’s deck narrowly missing the mast and sploshing into the waters on the other side of the ship.

  “Capt’n!”

  Blade heard Willie’s call. He waited, standing with the gunners, for the orders to be given as they drew nearer to the fierce battle. Blade ignored his first mate. “Carrion is your captain? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  He clenched his fingers, cutting deep into her arms. If he hurt her, she gave no sign of it. She only returned his glare. It all came clear. When he spirited her to his ship that night on the docks, she had lied when he asked her if she knew Carrion. He dismissed it. And her brother, Luc, stood beside him. Idiot!

  He shoved her away, not trusting himself to withhold the pain he wanted to inflict upon her.

  Another volley blasted, falling shy of the hull.

  “Capt’n!” Willie shouted over his shoulder, his face gathered in a critical furrow filled with censure.

  Blade bared his teeth in rage. They were under fire. And now it became apparent he would have to try to deflect the rounds shot at Carrion. “Spare Sablewing,” he ordered.

  Willie motioned to a master gunner. “Stay guns two and five.”

  “Fire as you bear!”

  “Fire!”

  The ship rocked with the succession of gun carriages jumping back whilst firing deadly missiles. Pungent, spent gunpowder flushed the air as smoke billowed forth. Gunners and the firing crews called out their positions over the deafening booms of gunfire—firing, swabbing the bores, ramming shot and firing again.

  Blade prickled with a tempest of agitation and thrill. Battle was strategic sport, one he usually enjoyed. Having to save Carrion, however, stuck in his craw. The battle would have to end before Drake caught up. Drake would certainly take the opportunity to destroy Carrion just as Blade wanted to do. And there would be nothing he could do to stop him. Damn it!

  “You.” He pointed at Marisol. “Stay down.”

  He grabbed a musket from the open gun chest in the middle of the deck. The Rissa was coming up the aft of the desperado ship’s stern.

  “Broadside!” he hollered.

  They slid alongside the ship on the outside of the ensuing fight. Bracing himself against the rail, he prepared to shoot. Blade aimed for any man barking orders. Any man who might claim a leadership role.

  A burly fellow racing along the rail, brandishing a barker, caught his attention. Not a captain, but most likely second-in-command. A good start. Blade aimed.

  A shot rang out, popping in his ear. The first mate buckled with the slug and fell to his knees. But Blade hadn’t pulled the trigger. From the corner of his eye, a musket lowered. Beside him, Marisol removed the ramrod to reload the gun she held propped with her knees.

  “What the devil?”

  A salvo of bullets bombarded past, sending them ducking below the railing.

  “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” he shouted.

  “Can we talk about this later?” Huddled against the side, she shoved a ball down the musket bore.

  He leaped up and fired his long-arm musket. Crouched again, he said, “No.”

  She swung up, pulled off a shot and dropped back down.

  “What were you doing with Carrion?”

  “Not now.”

  “Does Carrion know about the silver?”

  The ease and speed with which she primed her weapon meant she had been in battle before and likely more than once. Blade grunted then darted up to send off another shot.

  Damn Carrion. How long had he had a woman on board? With his flagrant penchant for trouble, how could he be so irresponsible? He could get her killed. “Answer me!”

  “Later.”

  “Now!”

  A bullet nicked the rail above them. In an instant, she returned fire. Settling with her back against the sidewall, she glared at him. “All right. Yes, he knows. I told him about the silver.”

  Fury clouded his vision. It wasn’t that Carrion knew of the treasure. That, Blade had already decided. But this one woman and her criminal ways had muddied up his waters into sludge. This had been her fault.

  She must have seen his ire. In truth it would have been hard to miss. His hand hovered between them with his fingers bent as if he warred with himself to not strangle her neck. She looked up from his trembling hand of death. “I thought he would take us to the Gloria. I did it because of Monte.”

  “You play pirate games, puppeting men for your own gain?” And to think she manipulated him like a bloody marionette.

  The
blast from a ship’s gun drowned out her answer. No formed on her lips, but the fierce explosions of gunfire fueled his fury. He tossed his long-arm aside and bolted upward. She wanted to fight? Let her. Pulling his two blunderbusses from his leather brace strapped across his chest, he stormed the length of the ship, firing his weapons.

  Rissa and Sablewing hemmed in the trespassing intruder. The battle lasted a few minutes more before the outnumbered desperado ship steered away rather than risking defeat. The winds lifted the gray smoke in wispy vapors taking with it the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. Blade marched the decks, surveying what little superficial damage they had incurred. Fortune smiled upon the Rissa and her crew. There were no injuries to tend and the men were free to make necessary repairs and clean the guns.

  But not until after he made sure Carrion posed no threat. With Drake sailing up along the other side of the Sablewing, he doubted the swivel-tongued captain would dare.

  “Ahoy there, Carrion,” he called. The proud man stepped forward flanked by scowling seamen covered in blackened smudges from the fight. “What’s your trouble?”

  “Bastards attacked without cause.” The mystery ship had tested him, and it showed. After he plopped his feathered tricorn hat onto his head, loose scraggly hair protruded from their binds behind his neck. Dried blood and sweat clustered around the small cuts across his hardened face. “We came upon her as a merchant. Didn’t know she was disguised until she opened her gun ports on us.”

  Undoubtedly Carrion planned to take an easy quarry not suspecting he could be on the losing end of a clash. “How do I know you weren’t the one attacking?”

  “Come now, Tyburn. You don’t think I would confront a vessel if I couldn’t beat all hollow and sail away fat and happy, do you?”

  No, he didn’t. The men on that ship had been well trained in the verse of battle.

  Blade smiled. “No need to thank me.” He motioned to several of his men and pointed to the Sablewing. “We’ll be coming aboard now.”