Dead Man's Kiss Page 2

  “I’m no nursemaid to a poppet,” Valeryn added.

  “She’ll require no coddling, this you can be certain.”

  “You couldn’t get someone else to take her?”

  “You need me to save you from la horca, the gallows.” His bushy eyebrows pinched together. “You are capable, no?”

  This was too easy. Too easy for negotiations. What was the squab not telling him?

  “If I take your niece to draw a few pictures, you will give me and my men reprieve. And return my ship to me.”

  “Sounds fair, wouldn’t you say, Capitán?”

  More than fair. And in his miserable life, nothing was fair. He’d be a fool to believe it now. He’d find out soon enough the cost of the venture. “And provisions?”

  “You will be well stocked for the journey.”

  Henri licked and smacked his lips. “There’s more than just vittles and water to be fully stocked, eh?”

  “You will have four hogsheads of rum, more than en—”

  “We accept!”

  “Henri, I think it best I make the decision,” Valeryn chastised.

  The little mack mumbled something unintelligible, but Valeryn could guess at what he said.

  “I can have Rissa ready to weigh anchor by morning.”

  “No.”

  ’Twas the first word Ochoa had spoken since Valeryn and Henri walked in.

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re ship,” Montoya explained, “has been quarantined. To ensure your return.”

  There it was. The stipulation. Now this agreement didn’t appear so favorable.

  “Seems reckless to put your niece’s well-being and personage into the hands of a pirate. Better still, an entire ship teeming with rogues.”

  “Ah, but you see, Capitán, I expect, nay, demand, no harm befalls Catalina. I have it on good authority that your brotherhood is strong. Stronger than the blood of one’s own family. To that, I will detain your men to guarantee a voyage without incident.”

  Valeryn should have anticipated as much. ’Twas dangerous to proposition a pirate, even when the man had him tight by the ballocks.

  “Ya can’t do that,” Henri protested.

  “Would you rather hang, enanito?” Ochoa sneered.

  Henri’s jowls flapped at the insult, and if he could conjure the elements and strike Ochoa dead for the slight, Valeryn had no doubt he would. Though Henri was a very short man, he despised being called a dwarf.

  “You expect protection for your niece, yet you tie my hands behind my back with no real way to protect her. I need a ship,” Valeryn stated, before Henri said something that would get them killed. “We need Rissa. Any other bucket would fall short.”

  “Ochoa will give you the use of the Amalia,” Montoya said. “She’s a three-masted barque with four swivels.”

  “We will not be able to defend ourselves with swivel guns,” Valeryn spat.

  “Nor would you expect trouble on a small vessel carrying no cargo.”

  “A foolish errand.”

  “I do not share in your opinion.”

  “And what of my ship?” Valeryn enquired.

  “She will be under the care of Ochoa and the guarda costas.”

  That was far from comforting.

  Montoya leaned over his desk across his ham hock arms. “’Tis simple, Capitán Barone. Take my niece to Los Roques. If you are successful and Catalina has her research, you and your men will earn a reprieve and make haste out of my port with your precious ship.” His gaze pierced through Valeryn to make his point very clear. “No harm is to come to her, no pirate capitán or otherwise, is to sully her virtue, to lie with her, lest this whole agreement dissolve. If you fail or abscond with her, or if you deem trickery, larceny, or betrayal of any sort, your men will be disposed of and your ship burned. But not before you are captured, flayed and gutted like a fish. This is non-negotiable.”

  The last threat meant nothing to Valeryn. Whole and true, nothing. However, he had an obligation to his men. He got them into it, he’d see them out.

  “’Twould seem we have an accord, Alcalde.”

  “One more thing,” Montoya said.

  Of course there was. This whole overture was riddled with foul preconditions. But as unpleasant as the voyage seemed, ’twas guaranteed they’d be better off than at the end of a rope. “Go on.”

  “My niece, she is a bit tenacious.”

  Ochoa choked on an inhale of his smoke. “Eso es algo de un eufemismo.”

  Montoya shot Ochoa a warning glance. “Perhaps that is an understatement.” The flaps around his mouth quaked with displeasure for the interruption. “She will do what it takes to get what she wants. And she will want to catalog every maltido bird, fish, insect and sprig she sees.”

  Valeryn hardly saw this as a problem. Well, except that he might want to cut his own weasand out of boredom. If the girl wanted to draw every grain of sand, ’twas no concern of his.

  “You have two months.”

  “Two months?” Was he insane? “’Twill take an entire month just to sail there.”

  “Two months, or your men die and your beloved ship will be destroyed.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Catalina Montoya’s excitement and smug satisfaction of finally bending her tio to her will vanished in a singular pop the moment she entered her uncle’s library. She had stopped so short at the threshold, Nalda bumped into her from behind. The old maid spouted off a string of reprimands in her native Spanish tongue, drawing the attention of the men in the room.

  Two men, rough and menacing, stood from their seats. The younger of the two, the one without the odd ribbons in his beard, winced as he rose, reaching for his ribs. His long tawny hair was frightfully tousled and ’twas obvious he hadn’t shaved in several days. Deep hues of black and green encircled bloodshot eyes. His swollen bottom lip accentuated his grim mouth. He had taken a mighty good beating.

  Did Ochoa—who hardly acknowledged her presence by not fully standing and promptly sitting to stare out the window—have something to do with this man’s drubbing? ’Twas possible. The rapscallion was never far from implication when anything afoul occurred in Matanzas. No one else in town seemed to notice, and likely with intention.

  Never mind that. What did the rogues have to do with her finally sailing to Los Roques? Her stomach clenched at the probable reason.

  “Ah, mi querida sobrina. Join us.”

  She came to stand beside Tio Alvaro’s desk.

  “My niece,” he presented, “Catalina Montoya.”

  The stares boring into her should have made her uncomfortable. And in some way, they did. But since arriving in her uncle’s city almost a year ago, the local men had hardly contained their ogles and tongues, smartly beyond the notice of the alcalde’s staff. Just as she had become accustomed to the harsh tropical sun, she’d hardened to the indecency of men.

  The way the wounded man looked at her with intense curiosity and distrust set her intuition buzzing with forewarning.

  “I present Capitán Valeryn Barone. He and Señor Henri Jeanfreau have been commissioned to take you to Los Roques.”

  “Glad to make your acquaintance.” Catalina bowed her chin and motioned for them to take their seats.

  What was Tio Alvaro up to, sending her with these men instead of his own? The better question was why? What debt did they owe? She intended to find out.

  She perched on the edge of the desk, not caring the action annoyed her uncle. Sitting this close to the captain, she could make out the light gold of his eyes, calculating eyes, almost the color of smooth amber. “Capitán Barone. Permit me to make assumptions. I believe it is safe to conclude you are not with the Spanish Armada.”

  By the ghastly crook of his upper lip, she had offended him. But she was also right. “Are you capitán of a merchant or a fishing boat?”

  The scruff little man, Jeanfreau, chafed like an angry rooster.

  The captain’s tongue curled over his inflamed bottom lip befo
re disappearing behind a scowl. “Neither,” he snarled.

  “A yawl, then? Selling wares to anchored ships? ’Twould be a prescription my uncle would see to if it meant to cease his torment and send me on my way.”

  “Catalina—”

  “No insult meant,” she said, perhaps too calmly, interrupting her vexed uncle. She swung a hand back, neither apologetic nor dismissive, and continued. “I am justly seeking answers to what places you as the luminary in my quest.”

  The captain’s brow raised at her attempt to assuage him. “The Rissa,” he said. “Have you heard of her?”

  Rissa. The name tumbled around in her head on the fringes of some passing knowledge. “Should I?”

  Jeanfreau shook his head. “Downright shameful,” the small man mumbled.

  “I think you too well kept if you haven’t.” The captain also shook his head.

  “Perhaps your arrogance has bloated your perception.”

  “Enough, sobrina.” Tio Alvaro’s chair squeaked as he shifted his weight in the uncomfortable tension.

  Ochoa pinned her with an inquisitive glance.

  Jeanfreau snorted.

  But Captain Barone outright laughed. “Any opinion of me hardly matters when the whole of the Caribbean knows me as a pirate.”

  Catalina shot from her perch. Did she hear right? Surely not! “Pirate?” She spun to Tio Alvaro. “A pirata? You would send me away with a pirata?”

  “He is a well-respected man the seas over who has vowed your safety. He and his brethren are friends to Cuba, and responsible for eradicating the tyrant Machete in Havana just before your arrival.” He wagged a finger at her. “And before you yammer on, I should think it wise to curtail any argument. He is the only captain who will see you on your folly.”

  “Humph!” Her hands flew to her hips. “’Tis not a folly.”

  “No more opportunity will be given to you, mi querida niña. Do not presume you will haggle me any further as I will put you on the next ship back to Spain.”

  “You won’t do this. Papá will not be pleased.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You know he is quite capable of having you recalled home.”

  “So his daughter can draw pictures?”

  She sputtered. “Draw pictures? Is that what—”

  “Are you willing to test your theory, Catalina? No? With the British Royal Navy haunting off my coast, I can’t spare a single naval ship. You know this. I told your padre I’d do what I could for you. This is it. You will go with Capitán Barone, or you will not go at all.”

  What choice in the matter had she? Stay—she’d already drawn and catalogued every living thing on the island— and perish in tedium, go back to Spain and live shackled to societal expectations in constant embarrassment to her mother, or take a chance with Captain Barone and seize her dream to become a respected naturalist within the Royal Society.

  The cuts, bruises, and dried blood marring the roguish captain’s features were as frightening as the set frown etching his face. He was no more happy about the arrangement than she. Why? Perhaps he wasn’t someone to fear after all. Especially if he liberated Havana from the most terrifying, blood-thirsty man in Cuba. He couldn’t be all that bad. Could he?

  If she were honest with herself, there would be risk with any man with which she sailed, aside from family. Even then, she had her doubts about that, too. Her primo, Fraco, often stared at her chest far longer than acceptable, bearing a lascivious grin when caught. If he ever acted upon his obvious perversion, who would believe her? Or choose to? Tio Alvaro? Though her uncle loved her, she was troublesome to him. And she knew too well politics trumped all else. His position in the island’s government was more important than one woman’s injustices. She knew this even as she threatened intervention from Papá—a general who sat on the junta de generales. Yes, family could be scarier than strangers.

  Catalina threw her chin up with a bit too much flair and straightened her spine. “When do we embark?”

  “Dawn,” the captain said. He shifted his gaze to her uncle. “That is if the alcalde has a ship outfitted and stocked by then.”

  “With enough hogsheads of rum for the journey,” Señor Jeanfreau said.

  “La Amalia will be ready, as will Catalina, her maid Nalda, and Fraco, my son.”

  She let a disgusted grunt slip. Though her uncle had missed it, Captain Barone did not. His eyebrows rose.

  “Your son,” he said, turning his attention away mid-sentence back to Tio Alvaro lighting his pipe. “Is he a seaman?”

  “His skill is...limited,” Tio said.

  “Every man on board my ship has a duty.”

  “Corrección. Ochoa’s ship. Fraco is to see to his cousin’s welfare.”

  The captain raked her with a scrutinizing eye. His roaming gaze was smooth, like a fox’s soft fur against her flesh—silky and warm. Curious.

  “Miss Montoya will be safe. I gave you my word.”

  “Sí, I suppose your life depends upon it, Capitán.”

  After Tio dismissed the rogues, Catalina watched as they left the chambers—one toddling with his cane, the other walking in measured steps. Whatever wounds the captain had, they caused him a great deal of pain. Despite how his stoic expression revealed nothing of the sort.

  Nalda stood beside the door, watching Catalina carefully. She recognized the look on the maid’s face. She’d been caught staring after the captain’s backside. Nalda disapproved. So should Catalina, but she couldn’t deny his alluring pull. Nalda’s lips ever-so slightly pursed.

  Catalina spun back to Tio Alvaro the moment the door latched shut. “Piratas, Tio?”

  “They are trustworthy men, mi querido.”

  “Trustworthy? And your resources?” she pressed.

  “Isaias—”

  “Isaias Ochoa’s bedfellows are traitors and scum.” Catalina did not care that Ochoa remained a fixture on the window casing.

  “Catalina!” Tio slammed his palm on his desk, the slap causing her to recoil. “I will not tolerate such an unseemly tongue. Interruptions, horrendous behavior, blatant disregard and disrespect.” His voice boomed throughout the room, bouncing off the wooden beams of the ceiling.

  “She must learn her place, Alcalde.” Ochoa’s repugnance burrowed into her under his narrowed lids. “I can break her, if you’re willing.”

  She might have shuddered to imagine what that meant, if only she wasn’t already riled.

  Tio Alvaro waved a hand. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Nay,” she said. “Now that I will be in the care of pirates.”

  “I am not careless with your well-being, sobrina. You will be surrounded by men loyal to me. Fraco will be with you. And Nalda.”

  ’Twould seem she had but one person to trust in the lot. Nalda had been her constant companion since arriving. Though hard and cold, the older woman was so unlike her own mother. Nalda listened to Catalina without prejudice. She offered matronly advice and friendship when it seemed she, too, was lonely. Nalda had many stern warnings, especially when Catalina would sneak off unescorted to the shore or hills to explore nature. But not once did the maid expose Catalina’s misconduct.

  “I will be in good hands,” she conceded.

  Without a single expression upon her face, Nalda tipped her chin, acknowledging the compliment.

  Catalina reached across the desk, placing both hands upon her uncle’s. Squeezing, her smile, genuine now, widened. “With the knowledge I could gain... Who knows what I will find out there. What if I discover a new species or a new plant with medicinal properties? And under your commission. What prestige and power that will bring you. Surely King Felipe will favor you for the contribution to science in the name of Spain.”

  “I hope it to be true.” He nodded, pleased by a chance at ennoblement.

  “As do I.” She let go of his hands, and gazed at the ceiling, full of hope. What wonders would she find? How exciting to catalogue the plant and marine life of the archipelago.
Learn the migratory paths of a seabird. To witness the mating habits of the hawksbill turtle. Perhaps she would finally have the work published by the Journal of Physical Science. How grand that would be. To be respected, maybe even honored, for her contribution.

  And all in the care of a handsome captain.

  Valeryn rubbed his hands along the railing of the Rissa’s quarterdeck, his home. The smooth worn wood was like his cutlass hanging from his hip, a part of him. The ship had become his peace, his ally. So much a part of him, ’twas as if he felt the cool waters against her timbered hull, himself, as she glided atop the blue sea—wild and free. To leave her now felt wholly wrong. He had little choice, by his own doing, and he bitterly resented it.

  Below him, on the main deck, expectant faces of his crew looked upon him. Guilt ate at his soul. His suicidal impulses had put them all here, surrounded by Spanish soldiers, both on board and patrolling the docks. They were all prisoners to the commission he agreed to undertake.

  Their captain was an idiot.

  Word had spread fast of Valeryn’s new assignment. The men were torn between their loyalty for their captain and the much deserved compulsion to abandon him. Angry sneers, disappointed frowns, and slanderous accusations greeted him when he returned to Rissa to gather his essentials. Some refused to move from his path, forcing him to jostle his way through the crowd. Bloody hell would he walk around them. He didn’t blame them if they hated him. He hated himself, too. But in the face of being executed, they had to reserve judgment of him until he returned and they were released. Then, and only then, they could persecute him all the way to the bowels of purgatory.

  He had but a few loyal mates. Why, he wasn’t sure. Henri, Sam and Willie were truly remarkable. He didn’t deserve to be their friend. For them, he’d see this through.

  “Men. Lend me your lugholes.” He scanned the crowd, leaning upon the railing to ease the dull ache in his ribs. “I make no apologies for what I’ve done. Nay. I was blind in my cups, willfully, and in honor of our brother, Gabriel. I made a mistake, but I won’t apologize for it.”