Ah. Now she remembered where she’d heard of him. The girls in Port Royal. They had treated her with tales of raunchy affairs about the man standing before her. Captain Blade Tyburn, the libertine, known to seduce women all over the Caribbean and the far reaches of the Atlantic with his charm. It was said that fathers locked up their daughters or sent them to the country at first mention of him sailing in nearby waters and that women of all statuses swooned at the sound of his name.
Well, she could certainly see why. No doubt he was a dashing rogue spreading devilish fantasies meant to make the heart flutter with unbound desires. But she had no use for being another conquest. She had grown tired of being insignificant, of being little more than a strategic ornament. A swift rendezvous would serve to fortify his debauchery while lessening her own feelings of importance. Unless
she
seduced
him.
As tempting as that seemed, she had a more pressing objective.
Besides, Alain would flay them both alive should she indulge in such a dalliance. Especially after that incident with Bobby Bones in Tortuga, God rest his soul. What was good for her captain was a far cry from what he permitted from her.
But Alain wasn’t here, was he?
“I don’t doubt your influence over the childishly lovesick lasses pining for a tryst with a legendary lover blowing in from the high seas. Aside from your mildly pleasing features, I see no other reason to entertain the idea of testing your mariner skills.”
“Skills beyond your imagination, to be sure.” He reached out to brush the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. The backs of his fingers trailed down her neck to her collarbone, scraping immense rifts in her composure. “No worries, though. I’ve no intention of entertaining a troublesome showpiece with a wily tongue such as the likes of you.”
“Bastard.”
“Guttersnipe.”
Ooh.
Her bosom to her ears prickled in heated anger.
“Ship ho! Portside!”
Marisol looked up to the sailor. He pointed north off the masthead.
Tyburn had already made his way across the deck and Willie had joined him. “What does she hail?” Willie asked. “Is she our quarry?”
Tyburn adjusted his scope. “I can’t tell. She flies no flag.”
Marisol leaned over the rail, straining to see the ship in the distance. The faintest of haze lingered, clinging to the only solid object on the surface of the sea. It was as though the vessel strove to disappear. An eerie feeling crawled across her skin.
“Take us to her,” Tyburn said to his first mate.
“Aye, aye.” Willie strode to the midship and hollered up to the helmsman on the quarterdeck. “Two points forward off the larboard beam, lad!”
The
Rissa
cut through the waves as she turned on her larboard. Marisol held on to a ratline with the sudden shift of the ship. The rise and fall over the swells sent shallow gusts of wind across her face, blasting a feel of urgency in her chest with each dip of the bow.
That could be the
Gloria
out there. Monte could be on that ship. Oh, to see him again. The ache in her heart dwindled with the swell of anticipation.
“Do you mind, Captain?” She wanted to take a look for herself at the target.
The corner of his lips twitched with unmistakable enjoyment and he placed the scope in her outstretched hand. “By all means, dear lady. Take a look.”
She sighted the ship in the scope. In the rounded distortion, the image in the center cleared. It was difficult to keep it in sight with the swaying
Rissa.
But even with the unsteady movement, she could tell something was not right. Her intuition triggered a chilling warning signal.
“Something is wrong.” She passed the telescope back to Tyburn.
He peered through it for a moment. His facial features hardened into stony severity. He paused to take in the currents of the ocean then focused again on the nearing vessel.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Tell me what you see,” he said.
She took back the scope and scanned the ship again. Her heartbeat picked up in pace as she realized what she saw. Or, rather, what she didn’t see. “Nothing. I see nothing.”
“Exactly.”
No one on deck milling about, no crew manning the sails, no one at the wheel. She swept the boat from bow to stern but saw no signs of life.
“It may be a trick.” He spared her another cynical glance. “They could be trying to give us a false sense of safety.”
“Another pirate ship?”
“Hiding below deck ready to attack is a reasonable tactic among buccaneers. But brethren don’t usually attack brethren.” He pushed off the railing. “Or do they, Miss Castellan?”
A captain who takes nothing for granted, including a woman. He must think her a pirate. A pitiful excuse for a pirate, too. She didn’t know if she should be insulted or laugh.
He called to the crew. “To arms,” he commanded.
A seaman brought up a crate from below and dropped it in the middle of the deck. He cast off the lid and handed rifles to the eager tars.
“Man the guns, men.” Tyburn directed the gunners. “Be ready for an attack.”
As they neared the other ship’s starboard, Willie shouted, “She’s the
Gloria,
Capt’n. Right and true, she is.”
Tyburn called up to the lookout. “Any sign of the
Widow Maker?
”
“Nay, Capt’n!”
“Bring her alongside, Willie,” Tyburn said. “Let’s see what this is about.”
Willie called the orders to the helmsman.
Marisol’s grip on the rope line tightened as they sailed closer. Still, the ominous deck on the ship cloaked in thin mist remained empty. It drifted aimlessly as it rolled along the tidal flow. Sagging ropes drooped from spars. Slackened sails flapped without any acceptance of wind. The rustle of the canvas and the bumping of an overturned barrel sounded like a spectral warning to stay away. Marisol shuddered as an uncanny sense of dread seeped into her every pore.
She stepped closer to the captain.
“Watch it, lassie,” Henri snapped. “Damn near broke me toes with yer big foot.”
“Pardon, Henri. I didn’t see you there.”
“Humph.” He grumped before stretching his neck up like an old turtle to peer over the side.
“Ship ahoy!” Tyburn called out.
No answer came.
“Willie, give the command. We’re to board.”
With one hand on his hip and the other leaning on the rail, Tyburn reminded Marisol of Alain. Relaxed by his outward appearance but poised for deadly action.
Willie hollered out the order and grappling hooks flung across the span, drawing the ships together.
The men poised around the cannons and readied their weapons. Every passing moment came wrapped in a cocoon of tension. Marisol wanted to take a gulley knife, cut open the constricting wall of disquiet and step through. She felt she would seize up from the strain. And she didn’t dare break the silence with a twittering faint. She’d die from embarrassment.
And still nothing disturbed the empty boat.
“Capt’n, look.” Henri pointed to the sky. Seagulls flew in, a half dozen or so, circling the two ships in an aerial frenzy.
Marisol froze. This was bad.
“Blimey.” Henri reached inside his vest and pulled out a flask. “Those be the souls of dead tars, they be.” He pulled a hearty swig from the flask, wiping the dribble with the back of his sleeve across the red bows in his beard and smacking his lips.
“Stow your gab, you old superstitious fool.” Tyburn shook his head.
The birds glided through the rigging and around the masts then came together.
“Look.” She gently shook Henri’s shoulder. “Look what they are doing.”
His eyes grew wide. Mumbling curses, he put his flask back to his mouth, emptying it.
“The gulls,” she continued. “They’re separating. Two sets of three. Do you know what that means?”
Henri nodded so that she thought his little head would pop off. She would rather be witness to that than the omen the gulls had brought.
“Death will be soon coming.”
“Quiet, woman.” Tyburn whirled to face her, snarling at her through clenched teeth. “I’ll not have you scaring the crew with lamp swinging tales.”
“But, Tyburn.”
“Capt’n.”
“Enough!” He slammed his palm down on the rail. “You two dupes want to trade ridiculous superstitions, then go below.”
A large gull lit on the
Gloria
’s railing across from Tyburn. Its white head tilted to one side as the black abyss in its eyes studied the captain. He stared hard back at the bird.
Marisol wondered who would look away first. She’d put her money on the bird, doubting Tyburn would be outflanked by a flying rat.
She and Henri together took a step away from the captain in shared superstition. The gull squawked so loud, they both jumped.
Clutching at his chest, Henri did some squawking of his own. “Bloody bird. Nearly made me heart give out. If it weren’t bad luck, I’d shoot the bastard.”
“I’d give you the bullet,” she added.
Henri smiled at her but the kind gesture melted away while the silence surrounding the ships stretched on. The
Gloria
’s decks remained still. If something didn’t happen soon, Marisol was sure to chew off her bottom lip.
The gull squawked again. Taking flight, it buzzed Tyburn’s head before joining the other birds withdrawing to the distant sky.
“Ye be a marked man, Capt’n,” Henri said. “A marked man.”
Blade’s footfalls reverberated on the wooden planks of the
Gloria.
The cavernous thuds announced his arrival, but it was the silence that prickled his keen defenses. He trailed his gaze along the vessel’s barren structure. The solicitude burrowed deeper into his bones. Drake would not desert such a profitable commission. Something had happened. But what?
He motioned for several men to fan out, to skulk and search for anyone on board.
They found no one.
“Where do you suppose they’ve all gone?” Marisol asked.
Her voice hummed barely above a whisper, and for him that was too loud.
“I gave you no permission to leave the
Rissa.
” He had wished not to keep an eye on the troublesome woman. Not right at the moment, anyway.
“Didn’t you?” Marisol scanned the ship before settling her brown eyes on him. “Well I’m here now. You really must make yourself more clear.”
If he had been any clearer, she would see through him like a pane of glass.
“And stop staring at me so.”
That strange, ugly feeling for her began to ferment in his gut once more. He swallowed his peevishness before it could boil over. A woman had never angered him before. Never in such a manner as she. He’d played the fool a time or two. Always by way of romance. But never had a woman caused him to lose control. He would not let her push him toward that path. He feared he would not be able to return.
“Keep yourself in check, chit. I’m not above shackling you up for your careless sauce.”
Her impassive shrug left Blade to wonder if she hadn’t suffered such a fate before. Had her flippant tongue been the cause? Or perhaps it had been her larcenous tendencies. Either way, he wouldn’t blame the man holding the keys.
“Capt’n.” A crewman poked his head out the main hatch. “You’d better come take a look at this.”
Blade followed the man below deck. Marisol stayed close behind. The sea dog swung open the door to the master cabin but stepped aside, shaking his head and refusing to go back into the room. As he passed through the threshold, Blade noted the man’s complexion drained of color. What had gotten into him?
At first glance, the room appeared unassuming. A table had been laid for a meal. But a closer inspection rendered the unassuming cabin into a sinister scene. Forks speared with half-eaten fish lay askew on plates. A knife sat on top of a cheese wheel ready to cut the rations. Dying bands of smoke from a fat cigar butt curled up from a metal dish at the end of the table. The salted meat mixed with the tobacco left the stagnant air smelling fusty.
“They were in the middle of eating their morning meal.” Marisol looked at the contents of a full tankard.
“No.” He moved around the table “See this trail of ash?” Picking up the butt, he rolled it between his fingers. “This cigar was lit hours ago.” Something was amiss, to be sure. He snuffed the cigar out in the dish.
“What could have happened?” She picked up the knife, eyeing the blade as she turned it in the light.
“I don’t have an answer.” Her sedate inspection of the burnished tool intrigued him. How soon before she tried to steal it?
“There is no evidence of a battle,” he continued. “No sign of unfortunate weather or a sudden outbreak of disease. They all seemed to…” he hesitated, not wanting to say the obvious, “…have vanished.” Even as the words fell from his mouth, her eyes darted up and rounded the size of pieces of eight.
“Do you suppose the ship is cursed?”
“Nay. I don’t believe in such things.”
“A ghost ship. We’re standing on a ghost ship.”
She spoke more to herself than to him as she peered into the corners of the cabin shrouded in shadows. Her anxiety grew palpable and Blade knew by the stiff way she stood that she held her breath. Had he not felt a dire need to understand the situation, he would have found her laughable.
“No—”
“Now
we’re
cursed.” Her voice raised up a notch, drowning him out from speaking further. “We’ve come on board and now we’re cursed, too.”
“Oh fire and death—”
Willie burst through the door. “It’s gone!”
Marisol swung around and flung the knife at the helmsman.
“Bloody hell!” Willie yelped. With the knife embedded in the frame just inches from his head, his eyes widened as he realized how close her mark was.
Blade suppressed a smile. Marisol had a growing list of surprises. He should’ve guessed her to be handy with sharp cutlery. Best not to encourage the lass or her skills further.
“Apologies, sir.” She strode to the threshold. “You gave me a fright.” She grabbed the knife handle and yanked it out of the door casing.
Willie’s mouth gaped. He struggled to reply but his jaw could only tremble in disbelief.
Blade saved him the trouble of accepting her apology. “What’s gone, Willie?”
“Uh.” He dragged his eyes away from her upon answering. “The silver, Capt’n. It’s not in the cargo hold. It ain’t nowhere on board.”
Tyburn snorted out an obscenity and shook his head. “Are you certain?”
“Aye. No silver, Capt’n. From stem to stern, we checked.”
Blade swore again, sending Marisol a heated glare.
“What? You don’t think I have anything to do with the missing silver, do you?”
“Things do seem to disappear when you are around.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you explain that?”
Her back straightened into that defensive posture he was beginning to come to know well. “I told you. This ship is cursed.” She pointed a slender finger at him. “
You
are cursed.”
“Now
that
I know to be true. I am cursed.” His tone sounded more detractive than he intended.
In a few strides he stood in front of her, staring down upon her. He rushed not as he studied the soft lines of her lovely face, lingering perhaps too long on her lips. Her cheeks rose with the corners of her smile. He would only have to bend slightly to seize those inviting lips with his. Perhaps someday. But not today.
“Aye. Cursed,” he said again. “Bloody cursed with you.”
Her smile gone, he pushed past her out the door. “Topside, Willie.” He shoved his quartermaster forward. “I need to address the crew.”
As they reached the hatch, he turned to face Marisol who was just a step behind. “I’ll be taking that.” He grabbed her by her waistband.
“Hey.”
Her objection mattered little to him and he removed the knife she had tried to hide under her tunic.
“I can’t risk you
maiming
any of my men.” He held up the knife eye-level before slipping it under his sash. “I’ll just put it here for safe keeping.” He patted the handle against his hip.
“That’s anyplace but safe.” She gave him a coy downward tilt of her chin.
Though he didn’t want to, he couldn’t help the twist of his wicked grin.
Perhaps someday.
Outside, the sun now shone vivid. A moment passed before Blade’s vision adjusted to the light. Already warm this early in the morning, the heat promised a sweltering day ahead. Hot days on the sea were as expected as a pirate’s death. Yet, this day, the air seemed, well, drier. He sensed a change blowing in the wind. By the fidgeting of his crew, they sensed it, too.
“Capt’n on deck,” Willie hollered at the seamen.
Blade climbed the ladder to the quarterdeck and looked down at his gathering crew and over to his remaining men on the
Rissa.
“No doubt by now you are aware of this ship’s missing crew and cargo.” His voice carried loud over both ships. “This is a mere impediment to our task. We will find who is responsible. And they will pay dearly. We sail back to Puerto Plata post haste. Are you fellas up for a hunt?”
Their cheers were hearty. He nodded, satisfied with their enthusiasm.
“We will bring the
Gloria
in as well,” he added, “and drop her anchor outside of the bay. We don’t want any unnecessary attention bringing her in without her crew.”
The zest died in an instant. The men hung their heads, muttering and avoiding eye contact with him.
“What has gotten into you men?” He knew the answer and it sickened him.
“Capt’n.” Willie spoke up. “No one wants to work this ship. They believe she’s cursed.”
A frown tugged on his mouth as he scanned the crew.
“Lily-livered is not a pirate’s mettle. When did my men turn craven?”
“Pardon me sayin’ so, Capt’n, but you hafta admit there is somethin’ unnatural here.”
“Nay. Stint this foolery. There is not.” He shot Marisol a stern dare to say otherwise. “The men are to draw straws,” he announced. “Those who oppose their duty will take a turn with the gunner’s daughter. On with it. I want to be under sail right away.”
The men scattered back across to the
Rissa
to draw their lot. Willie met with Blade when he came down the ladder.
“You don’t believe in this rubbish, do you, Willie?”
“Nah. I was just speakin’ on behalf of the men is all.” Willie took out his little sack of tobacco. “Some tend to let their heads get jumbled. Probably should add more water and less rum to their grog.”
“Try that with Henri’s ration and he’ll hang you from the yardarm.” Blade shared a chuckle with his first mate at the thought of the cranky little man without his normal strength of tot.
“Whaddya think happened?” Willie stuck a pinch of the tobacco into his cheek.
“My guess is someone boarded this ship under the cover of darkness, taking the crew by surprise. They must’ve been loaded up along with the cargo. We’re going back to Puerto Plata to talk with our stalwart landlubber friends, see what news there is—if anyone has produced silver coins or a fresh batch of slaves for auction.”
Willie nodded as he chewed on his wad.
“I’ll captain the
Gloria,
” Blade continued. “You, of course will be in charge of the
Rissa.
Have Sam join the others who find themselves unlucky enough to pull the short straws. When we get to port, we won’t dock but take the longboats in.”
He had been aware that Marisol had eased herself closer to eavesdrop the entire length of their conversation. Though she was still a good distance away, he knew she’d heard every word. Blade finally turned to acknowledge her.
She joined them at the jerk of his head. “Shall I draw a straw, too?”
“It would be foolish of me to allow you the odds of escaping my hospitality, don’t you agree?”
“I should think it foolish keeping me at hand.”
“True.” Her smile bewitched him, but her efforts were lost on him. “The alternative is to throw you overboard.”
“Ah, then I most certainly would be your curse, for I’d haunt you from my watery grave until the end of your days.”
Blade internally shuddered. What in the blazes would that be like? In the short time he’d known her, Marisol already had made his life hell. He would think to seek a quick death should her wraith plague him. The sooner they got back to Puerto Plata, the better.
“Stay out of the way, Miss Castellan, and we can unburden ourselves of such terrible doom.” He turned his back to her and saw Willie onto his ship.
* * *
Marisol straddled the cat head at the bow of the
Gloria,
letting her feet dangle just above the secured anchor. She had been ordered to stay within sight and forbidden to wander below deck. The crew kept an eye lifted on her to make sure she behaved. A grin slipped at the thought that she kept them on their toes.
Stray strands of her hair blew across her face and she tucked them behind her ears. Breathing deep, she closed her eyes. She found this spot peaceful. An occasional spray of water from the main stem slicing through the sea below splattered cool upon her exposed ankles. She felt so alive.
She imagined herself as if she were the ship. Her wooden hull skimmed over the glassy ocean, her sails full and stretched wide from the good wind. The warm sun soaked into her smooth planks, invigorating her as its rays pointed the way to far off mysteries waiting for her to unlock.
Marisol wouldn’t need a captain. She could see her own way. But if one should ever be required, she would think of no one better to unfurl her sails than Captain Blade Tyburn.
A devil, he was. And a devil to be had. His crass affronts rivaled with his lust-filled eyes, even when she angered him.
Dare she admit that she was smitten by him? Everything about him struck her as foreign. My, but it wasn’t simply his handsome features or the sinful tight curves and planes of his body. There, too, was his whip and pickle banter. A pleasure she verily enjoyed, no matter the sting.
So unlike Alain.
Tyburn’s command over his men was stern but not menacing. Despite his threat to lash anyone who flouted his orders, she believed his men were loyal enough to follow him into Satan’s fiery mouth of hell. Not because of the pirate code, but because they genuinely respected him. She’d seen it in their actions, heard it when they spoke. Not once had she heard a crewman complain about his leader. It was odd to see so many in good spirits and without squabbles. These men trusted their captain even as they feared the damned ship they sailed.
She admitted she had been spooked, too. ’Twas not a good omen, happening upon a ghost vessel. And the seagulls. Every sailorman, young rooster and old pigtail alike, knew that seagulls flying in groups of three were a warning of death soon to come. She could not believe the pattern of the birds as a coincidence. Although, Tyburn gave a credible explanation about the disappearances of both the cargo and crew, she wouldn’t feel relieved until they made port. She planned to stick close to him when they reached the island. She had to find out what happened to the
Gloria
’s hands. She had to find out about Monte.
Was he on board? Was he safe? Was he even alive? The questions burned in her gut like last night’s dinner.
The ship couldn’t arrive fast enough if Neptune, himself, picked her up and set her dockside. What desperation her need to find her brother had become. He must know she did not give up on him. Never had she given up on him.
A commotion drew her attention to the deck. Several men were hollering, pointing up into the rigging. She focused high up the main mast. A topman hung precariously upside down from the edge of the yardarm, his ankle wrapped tightly by the halyard cord and he flailed his arms wildly. Men on the arm shuffled out to reach him. Below, several men climbed the ratlines to help. One lost his balance. Marisol flinched as he tumbled, causing another shipmate to fall with him into the water below.