A Kiss in the Wind Read online

  “Never mind that.” She must put an end to his questions and redirect his attention, for his sake as well as for hers. “Look on the inside.”

  Luc hesitated before opening it. Frowning, he turned the paper several times in his hands, trying to make sense of the writing.

  “It’s the rough coordinates and time for the interception of Windham’s shipment of silver.” She beamed, rather proud that she had deciphered the note. She had read and reread the message in her quarters under the dim flame of a single candle. Too much light coming from her room would have raised suspicion as they were barred from wasting the tallow unless needed. ’Twould do her no good to have been caught. So she’d memorized the words and blew out the candle before being discovered.

  “How can you be sure?” Luc turned the page again.

  “Really, Luc,” she said. “You should learn to read.” She snatched the paper from his hands.

  He clicked his tongue. “I know how to read.”

  “Something other than the names over the entrances to your favorite alehouses.”

  “Don’t need to read. I just let Simone do the communicating for me,” he said, patting the gleaming cutlass at his hip.

  That was true enough. Luc exacted fatal precision with his sword. She had spent many hours watching him, learning from him, striving to be as good as he.

  “All right, see here?” She pointed to the sole sentence. “Gloria chante sept avec le lever du soleil des eaux nobles,” she read. “Gloria sings seven with the sunrise of the noble waters. That is what it says.” She looked up excitedly at Luc. “A ship called the Gloria will be coming from the east at high tide seven miles out.” She could hardly contain her jubilation. “Windham has a ship named Gloria. Do you realize what this means?” Once she told Alain of the note, he would have to forgive her for disobeying his direct orders to not interfere.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Marisol, and it won’t work.” Luc shook his head. “He’s not going to be pleased with you. He may even punish you.”

  Her smile faded. She knew what he would say next, dousing her mirth.

  “You have no way of knowing if Monte is on that ship,” he continued. “Alain is not willing to intercept a well-fortified ship to look for a ghost.”

  She puckered her mouth into a frown. Luc knew her well and he knew what motivated her. She had heard from a reliable source that her younger brother was seen in Santo Domingo and could be a sailor on one of Charles Windham’s ships. Upon hearing the news, Marisol had decided she would find him at all costs.

  “I miss Monte, too.” Luc sighed. “But I’ve accepted him as dead. And you should do the same.”

  “His body was not found.” Her voice caught in her retort. “He could still be out there.”

  “You and I both know Monte was an undisciplined bladder of air. Always impatient. Never following orders. I wish it weren’t so. I really do.”

  He spoke true. Monte stubbornly believed he could outsmart anyone or anything. His arrogance got him into many brawls. Ask Monte and he would’ve said he never lost a fight, even when he was so battered, Luc had to carry him home. Aye, Monte was troublesome.

  Luc put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Here it comes. Here comes the same old drivel Luc spoon fed her when she insisted Monte was alive.

  “It was an accident, Marisol. It wasn’t your fault that he didn’t escape.”

  She refused to believe it. Monte was crafty enough to make it out alive. And if she ever stopped searching for him, her guilt would surely swallow her whole. It saddened her that Luc didn’t believe in the possibility that Monte was alive. He was a great source of comfort to her, yet for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to support her quest to bring their missing brother home.

  Well, if Luc wouldn’t help she would continue her search alone. “I suppose you’re right.” She patted his hand that still lay on her shoulder. “Do you suppose Alain will still be interested in this letter?”

  “Possibly.” He paused. The shadows on his face only sharpened the tired lines around his eyes. “Do you want me to give it to him?”

  She thought of Alain’s punishments. As of late, she had been straining his patience beyond its tethered length. He wouldn’t be lenient on her now, no matter her cozy position with him. What would he dole out to correct her bad behavior? It didn’t matter. As part of his crew, she had to adhere to his orders. Her defiance really left him with no choice. She supposed she deserved whatever she would get. “No,” she sighed. “I’ll see to it myself.”

  Luc delivered a worried glance. She smirked, knowing she would likely talk her way out of trouble again if their father found the note remarkable enough. He gave a low chuckle. He knew it, too. His laughter died as he returned his attention to the ship before them.

  “What?” she asked. “Do you know this ship?”

  “Aye,” he answered. “The pirate ship, Rissa.”

  Something in Luc’s tone jogged her memory. It all came flooding back to her. She’d heard stories of the infallible ship and her conquests. Great battles she had won and immeasurable treasures she had garnered. It was believed among the tarry-breeks the sea over that the Rissa was cursed. For every voyage she embarked on, for every fortune she made, one on board must die. A trade for good fortune. Only those spawned from the devil could captain her.

  “She’s quiet tonight,” Luc added.

  Marisol hadn’t noticed before. But he was right. There should be crewmen about. Even when the sailors caroused in port, some remained behind on duty to guard their ship and whatever she may carry in her hold. Marisol became more aware of the tenebrous brig and the ominous creaks of the quay around them. The darkened ship effused a foreboding sense. Bare masts like skeletal arms reached to the ebony sky. Ratlines resembled spider webs ready to snare a hapless soul who ventured too close. Somewhere in the shadows a door shut. They were being watched. Peripheral movement had her searching the vessel’s bow.

  “Why don’t you go back to your cabin? You can give the letter to Alain later.” Luc took a step back from the edge to the pier, pulling her along by her elbow. He must have felt the same baneful energy around them rolling in like poisonous sea mist from the ship. “Besides, you’ll be safer there. I’ve got something important I must do. But if you want, later I can be with you when he returns.”

  “You know there is nothing you can do should he wish to punish me.” While she appreciated his protective nature, she would not allow Luc to stand up to Alain for her. The act would be considered mutinous. She had no plans to be the cause of any more suffering to her brother. “I’ll be fine. To prove it, I’ll come directly to your quarters afterwards.”

  “Good.” He nodded. “Later, then.” He waved, casting one last glance to the Rissa as he turned toward the town.

  She pretended to head for their ship for she knew Luc would look back. Let him think she followed his suggestion of returning to her quarters. She deliberately kept the letter within view a moment longer before returning it to her pocket. Then she, too, walked away from the docks and into the streets of Puerto Plata.

  Alain had said they anchored here for the amber trade. Marisol wasn’t so sure. He never revealed his true motives and they were most always selfish in nature. His rapacity played like a fine tuned instrument. If she struck the right chord, maybe she could pique his interest in the cargo the Gloria carried and convince him to chase her down. With the ship passing in the morning, she needed to get to him soon.

  Crossing the square she spied Alain and two of his cohorts, Ben and Knuckles, duck under an open curtained doorway at the far end of the street. Another brothel. By now she should be used to his whoring. She blew out a disappointed sigh before she trotted after him. Marisol wished she could change him. God knew she’d tried.

  She pushed through the red curtain. Several girls casually chatted with each other among the cushioned chairs and sofas in the room. An older woman wiping a glass clean behind the small bar looked up. Ben an
d Knuckles stood at the end of the counter. Three lusty molls negotiating socket money for their ribald services fingered the men’s clothing, removing hats and running their hands through hair. The fellows couldn’t have been happier with the attention.

  Marisol caught sight of Alain in the back ascending the stairs to the bedrooms above. “Alain,” she called.

  “Marisol,” he spat. “You’d better have a damn good reason for being here.” He stood on the steps unabashed by the busty brunette beside him pawing her way over his body, tugging at him to follow her upstairs.

  Maybe she should have listened to Luc and waited for Alain’s return to the ship. Interrupting him now was a lousy idea. Leaving the ship against his orders and disturbing him in his leisure was bad enough. But once he found that she’d again left a little mess in her wake a few blocks over, the position of a silver shipment off the coast of Hispaniola would not be enough. She should have waited until after he had his pleasure. Then his mood would have been lighter.

  “Out with it, woman.” His growl filled the room like angry thunder. Alain’s strumpet dropped her arms and frowned at Marisol for agitating him. Ben and Knuckles looked over. In fact, the entire brothel had come to attention.

  Marisol bowed her head. “Pardon, Captain.” When she looked up at him, she held her chin a bit higher. A gesture of courage she must always maintain, as she would not grovel to him. She doubted he took notice. “I have an urgent matter I would like to pass along to you. I can see you are busy—” she shifted her gaze to the woman, “—but it will only take a moment of your time, if you would allow it.”

  His stare bore into her. Oh great guns, was he displeased.

  “Go on up, Zita,” he said. “I’ll join you in a moment.” She squealed as he slapped her rear. “Be naked.”

  His heavy footfalls thudded upon each step. His knee-length coat buffeted around the arsenal she knew he concealed beneath it. He met Marisol at the bottom of the stairs. “This better be worth it.” He led her to a quiet corner away from prying ears and sat down at a small tripod tea table. “Don’t sit.” He waved his ringed hand as she bent to take the seat next to him. He leaned back crossing his arms over his chest. “You have one minute. Go.”

  She tried not to let his gruffness upset her. Why did he have to act this way? She didn’t need the constant reminder of his authority. “Very well,” she bandied. “A shipment of silver is on a boat due to sail past on the morn seven miles out. It’s the Gloria, a ship owned by Windham.”

  “Silver, you say?” Alain rubbed at the scruffy black beard growing in on his chin. “There’s been talk Windham was moving riches. But it’s been months.” His scowling face darted up at her. His mouth twitched with admonition. “And how did you come by this information, ma chérie?” He stressed the endearment more than necessary.

  She shrugged. “It is not important.”

  “I say it is.”

  An unexplainable apprehensiveness cautioned her from revealing the note. “I intercepted a message from a dying carrier.”

  Alain rolled his head back, stretching the tension she knew she caused to build in his neck. “So help me, Marisol, if I have to square away another one of your kettles of fish…” He let out a disgusted sigh. “How do you know there is silver on board?”

  Anticipating his question, she withdrew two silver coins and laid them on the table. “I also managed to get these.”

  Lifting his eyes slowly from the coins to meet hers, he asked, “Is that all?”

  “Aye,” she lied. She would not break the stare. Hold his stare.

  It took a great part of her will to stand very still, to not move as he took stock of her. Then a weak smile broke the stony facade of his countenance. “Well then.” He slapped at his knees as he rose from the chair. “Your time is up.” Swiping the coins, he put them in his coat pocket and pushed past her, heading for the stairs.

  “What will you do?”

  He did not break his stride nor turn around. “I shall sleep on it.” His raucous laughter echoed throughout the room. “And when I’m done,” he said as he climbed the flight of stairs to the dimly lit landing, “I will decide a fitting scourge for neglecting my orders.” Halfway up to the landing he stopped. “Ben. Get yer hands off the jade’s dugs and see Marisol back to the ship.”

  Ben scowled, but promised the woman he was fondling that he’d return for a bull’s-eye’s worth of tupping.

  Alain moved from view on the landing. “Zita! On your knees, woman,” he called. His door slammed shut.

  So that’s it, Marisol thought. Frustration warred with anger, swirling in her belly and tingling at her fingers. She had no idea if Alain would choose to hunt down the Gloria. No indication if the silver proved enticing to him. If he opted not to go after the Gloria, then what? She would have lost the opportunity to find Monte. Damn. She needed to captain her own ship. One day, she would break free from Alain. Slice through the ties that bound her. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to leave him.

  And to think he relished the idea of making her stew over what punishment she would endure. Sometimes mulling over the atrocities Alain was capable of proved a worse sentence. Would he clamp the irons on and make her suffer the burning sun? Throw her in the brig without food and water for some untold time? Or worse, make her wash all the crew’s nasty feet? Ugh, not again. Only once had the captain gone as far as having her flogged. To make the insult even worse, Alain had forced Luc to carry out her punishment.

  “Please, Miss Marisol. Don’ try an’ rook me this time. Let’s just go back ta the ship like Capt’n wants.”

  “Of course, Ben.” Naturally, she had no intention of being escorted to the ship by him. She might as well earn her punishment. What was one more defiance?

  The bordello suddenly burst to life. A group of young drunken seamen trooped in. Hollering and guffawing, they sank into the couches, ravishing the giddy girls. The woman behind the counter pulled out many glasses to fill with ale for the rowdy guests. Some were quickly led away up to the promises of desire in the rooms above. A tall man as drunk as a wheelbarrow grabbed Marisol, pulling her close. She pushed away from him, gagging on his breath stewed in booze as he tried to kiss her.

  “’Ey, ’ands off, ya spoony bugger,” Ben said.

  “Who ya callin’ spoony, nit.”

  “Nit? Ya lookin’ to fight are ya?”

  “Suppose I am.”

  “’Appy to oblige.”

  Ben struck the jack and the two locked into an ugly broil. Not to be outdone, Knuckles grabbed the nearest fellow and popped him in his nose. Those two were always looking to brawl. Why, they were as predictable as hungry dogs fighting over a meaty chop, sometimes just as dangerous. Marisol seized the opportunity and hurried out to the streets.

  She took a deep breath of stagnant air and began to stroll back to the docks. With nothing left to do, she headed for the ship to wait for Alain’s return. She would go to him then, prepared with an argument if he decided to forgo crossing the Gloria. Maybe she would embellish the ship’s prize and dare him not to seek it.

  She wished now she hadn’t told Luc about the rumor of Monte sailing on a Windham ship. Without that knowledge, she might get Luc’s backing to plunder the Gloria.

  Luc. What business did he have this night? He wasn’t with Alain and Alain never sent another in his stead where money or trade were involved. And if he was off sporting fun, such as night hunting or taunting the locals, he would offer to let her tag along. It struck her as odd.

  She paused to peer in the glass window of an ivory tuner’s shop and spotted a grand dagger with a bone handle. The fine detail of a sea dragon, the intricate pattern of vining knots and serpent scales, impressed her. She would like very much to have such a beautiful weapon. Leaning in, she stared more closely. The blade’s clean razor edge gleamed and she wondered at its weight and how it would feel in her hands, how little resistance the flesh would lend upon penetration. Aye, a good dagger it would make
.

  A breeze swirled in, dusting up dead leaves and small clouds of sand. Marisol closed her eyes and straightened, facing the first welcoming cool reprieve to the humid night. The briny draft displaced the stale calm. But as soon as the wind swept over her face, it stopped. The air became thicker. She opened her eyes to a colossal black man looming before her.

  “Uh.” She huffed at his sudden appearance. She couldn’t see his stare in the bleak light, couldn’t gauge his intentions by them, but the smooth taut muscles in his arms bulging out of his sleeveless buckskin tunic cautioned that this man was an immediate threat. Instinctively, she moved back.

  “Me capt’n says I need to fetch ya.” His voice rumbled with a low strain, leaving her to question if the man had any occasion to talk.

  “Your captain? And who might that be?” She feared she knew exactly who would want to see her.

  “Capt’n Tyburn.”

  She winced at his name. Trouble brewed at the fringes of the moment. Under different circumstances, she would like very much to see the charmer again. And to have him touch her the way he had out in the street just a couple of hours ago, well, what sin wouldn’t she commit for another such decadent sensation?

  But leaving him as she had, making off with the shell cameo from his pocket, she should probably steer clear of the captain and his delicious body. No doubt he wasn’t requesting her for a social call. The pastel cameo bore the image of a mother and child under a leafless tree. Set upon a gray intaglio, the craftsmanship of the relief was amazing. Grape leaves and grapes twined through the mother’s hair and she held her naked son close to her breast. Marisol reasoned the cameo to be a sentimental trinket and Tyburn would be none pleased with her for stealing it.

  “Another time, perhaps,” she said.

  “I don’ t’ink so.” He placed a powerful grip to her upper arm. “What t’e Capt’n wants, t’e Capt’n gets.”

  “Hey, unhand me.” Marisol struggled against his hold, punching him on his massive chest without effect whilst he pulled her along several feet. A cold wave of fear rose up inside her. So strong this man, that with a little more pressure he would snap her arm like a dry twig. Her knuckles burned from hitting her solid mark.