Destiny's Captive (12 page)

She glanced around quickly. “There's shrimp here?”

He found this very endearing. “No, Pilar. I'm sorry.”

“Oh,” she said plainly disappointed. “And these strips are what?”

“Pork. It's called bacon.”

“Why is it flat like this? We eat pork at home, but it doesn't resemble belt leather. How do you eat it?”

“Just pick it up with your fingers and bite.” He watched her taste it.

“Very dry and salty,” she noted.

“Americans eat it for breakfast. What do you customarily have?”

“
Mangú
—which is mashed plantains, eggs, salami, peppers, onions . . .” Her words trailed off.

“When we get home you might find the food more familiar, but until then, it will be mostly American food.”

Again, disappointment, but she began to eat her eggs.

“Ah, Mr. Yates. I see you are still with us.”

He looked up to find Senor and Senora DeValle and their sixteen-year-old daughter, Caralina, standing beside the table. He'd met them on the premises a few days ago. It was the wife who'd greeted him. “Good morning,” he offered in a polite response. “How are you?”

“We're fine, aren't we, Caralina?”

“Yes, we are.” The daughter viewed him as if he were a dessert she wanted to try. It was yet another case of a mama looking to wrangle a mate for her unmarried daughter.

Pilar viewed them coolly. He was about to introduce her when Senora DeValle asked, “And what are your plans for today, Mr. Yates? Caralina is very anxious to visit the gardens here. Maybe the two of you—”

“
Querido?
” Pilar inquired softly, “Would you like more coffee?”

Noah, who'd just taken a sip from his cup, choked upon hearing himself referred to as her
darling
. There was a distinct stormy devilment in her dark eyes and he couldn't suppress his smile. “No,
querida,
I'm fine for now.” He turned to the DeValles. “I'd like you to meet my wife, Pilar.”

The shocked mama's eyes widened. The daughter shot daggers at Pilar, who raised her cup mockingly in response. The father dropped his head with abject disappointment.

“When did you marry?” Senora DeValle asked, looking quickly between them.

“Yesterday,” Pilar answered. “It's been nice meeting you.”

That earned her a glare, but having been effectively dismissed, there was nothing for the family to do but move on. They did so and sat at a table on the far side of the room.

Noah studied her.

“I am your wife. We may not have a love match, but I'll not tolerate calf-eyed girls or their mothers slavering over you, at least not in my presence.”

He raised his cup. “Noted.”

“Good.”

An amused Noah went back to the food on his plate.

“Do you have a mistress?”

He paused and looked up. Her face was unreadable. “Not officially, no.”

“So that means there is a woman or women in your life?”

Rather than dance around what felt like a trap, he offered the truth. “There is a woman I sometimes keep company with when I'm in San Francisco.” Her name was Lavinia Douglas. Her father, Walter, owned a small shipyard.

“And now that you are married?”

“The men in my family honor their wives, Pilar. There are no outside women.”

“Thank you. I just wanted to know.”

“And for the record, I'll not have calf-eyed men slavering over you in my presence, either.”

That earned him a raised chin. “Noted,” she replied.

He saw Senora DeValle watching them. She didn't appear pleased, but Noah was very pleased with this first shared meal with his new wife. However, there was something he'd been meaning to ask. “This may spoil the morning, but what happened to my belongings on the
Alanza
?”

She slowly put down her coffee cup. “I sold them.”

He cocked his head.

“Did you expect me to box them up and store them away?”

He didn't know what to expect—but: “Did they fetch a good price?”

“They did, but I may have gotten a better one had I not had to sell them so quickly.”

He was almost afraid to ask. “Meaning?”

“We needed to pay the boatman who took us to Florida, and I didn't have the luxury of haggling, so I sold him your gun and holster. The painting went to someone on the dock. He wanted to give it to his mother for her birthday.”

He choked on another swallow of coffee. Picking up his napkin, he wiped his mouth and once recovered, asked quietly, “The one that was hanging in my quarters?”

“Yes. Did you paint it?”

“Yes,” he said, knocked for a loop by her disclosure.

“I thought you might have. Doneta said you have a talent.”

“I saw her painting. She paints well, too.”

“Yes, she does. She's the family's art forger.”

His eyes widened and he looked around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. “Art forger?”

She nodded. “Some of her work is hanging in museums. Of course they don't know they're forgeries. We switched hers with the true versions.”

Noah was so stunned and confused he didn't know what to ask next. “Have you finished eating, because we need to continue this conversation in private.”

“Yes, I have.”

Still staring at her as if she'd turned herself into a mermaid, he left the money for the meal on the table and they went back up to their room.

“Now, begin again,” he said to her once they were settled in the chairs.

“I'm from a family of forgers, counterfeiters, and thieves, for lack of a more refined description.”

“And your specialty—besides stealing boats?”

She cut him a look, which he ignored. “I steal things.”

“Such as?”

“When I was very young, I was trained to steal small items from homes.”

“By whom?”

“My father and uncles.”

“So, where some families trade in, say, carpentry or sailmaking, yours trades in theft.”

“The sarcasm is not appreciated, but yes.”

He found this utterly appalling yet fascinating. “How would you go about it?”

“They would boost me through a window after dark and I'd take whatever I could find. Silver, small statues, jewelry if it was left out on a nightstand or dresser.”

“You'd enter bedrooms?”

“Yes. I was very quiet and quick.”

“Were you ever discovered?”

“Once. I was about seven years old and a man came upon me as I was leaving. When he asked me what I was doing in his home, I began to cry and told him I was looking for my mother and that she was a maid and hadn't come home, but I couldn't seem to find the right house.”

“And he fell for that?”

“Yes. In fact, I was so convincing, and he was so concerned, he wanted to accompany me to the other homes nearby to aid my search.”

Noah chuckled with disbelief. “And the forged paintings?”

“Sometimes we'd switch Doneta's forgeries with the ones we found in homes, but a few times, we went for paintings hanging in museums. My father had contacts in Havana who'd sell the real ones to Americans or Europeans. Many wealthy people have no idea whether their paintings are real or not. I'd hire in as a maid, bring the forgery in at night, give the true one to my father waiting outside, and the owners were none the wiser. I'd leave their employ a week or so later and move to the next job.”

“I'm impressed.”

“I've a question for you. How did you know I'd be at my uncle's home?”

“I didn't. I was there because of our partnership and I showed up that night for the party only because I'd been invited. When I didn't find you at your home in Santiago, I had no idea where to search next.”

She went still. “You went to our home?”

“Yes.”

“How'd you find out where I lived?”

“I paid a man named Gordonez for the information.”

“That bastard.”

He studied the anger on her face. “How well do you know him?”

“He was the
novio
my mother left at the altar. He hated my father as a result.”

“He seemed to be holding a grudge against your family, but I didn't want to ask about it.”

“His lie to the Spanish authorities that my father was a high-level rebel leader is what led to his death. None of us will ever forgive him.”

Now, he understood the acrimony he sensed in the man that day. He wondered how much joy Gordonez felt knowing Noah was hunting Desa's daughter. “And the rest of my belongings, like my clothing, did you sell them as well?”

She quieted for a moment as if thinking. “Tomas took your clothing. Not sure what he did with it.” Her face saddened.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring back your grief.”

“I will miss him terribly.”

Her tone made him wonder if the man had held her heart, but he didn't ask because he didn't want the answer to be yes.

“As for the rest of your things, I gave your paints and easel to Doneta. We also found sheets of music. Did you write them?”

He nodded. “I did. Did you sell them as well?”

“No, I put them back in your desk.”

“Which is now at the bottom of the sea?”

Her reply was a quietly spoken, “Yes.”

That was the greatest loss as far as he was concerned. His gun, the clothing, even the painting could be replaced, but he'd been composing that requiem on and off for a number of years. Now he'd have to try and recreate it from scratch.

“As your wife now, I suppose I should apologize.”

“Only if it's genuinely offered.”

“My apology—genuinely given.”

“Thank you,” he said, hoping it didn't come out as curtly as he felt.

The way her eyes flashed, he knew that it had. “What instrument do you play?”

“Piano.”

“Had I the opportunity to do it all again, I would have chosen another target that night.”

“I'm sure you would've, but there's no changing the outcome now. Shall we go see about the train tickets?”

She nodded.

When they reached the door he asked, “Will my mother have to hide the silver when we get home?” he asked.

“Are you deliberately being insulting?”

“Just an honest question in search of an honest answer.”

“I don't steal from family.”

“Good to know.”

“You were the one who initially wanted this marriage, remember?”

“And last night, so did you.”

She looked away. “This isn't easy for me.”

“I understand. Knowing you've been stealing since you were little isn't an easy thing for me either.”

He opened the door and she silently led him out.

As they made their way to see about tickets for the train, Noah was still bowled over by her revelations. A family of thieves? He knew Pilar wasn't the average woman but to find out the totality of that . . . And sweet Doneta, who'd fed him information on her sister—an art forger? He wondered what role their mother Desa played, and decided he didn't want to know. Surely Miguel wasn't a party to their roguery? He looked down at her walking so silently by his side. They'd gone from having a leisurely breakfast to snapping at each other, but he felt justified in asking the question that he had about the silver. Were he to bring a thief into his mother's home and something came up missing, she'd take a shotgun to them both. Earlier, he'd wondered what challenges his new wife would bring to his day. He had his answer.

“T
he ferry to the mainland leaves tomorrow morning at four sharp. Train at five,” the depot agent told them as he handed over the tickets. “You'll be going to Birmingham, Alabama, and then north for the train to St. Louis. This being the South you'll have to ride separately.”

Pilar had no idea what that meant, but the ice that entered Noah's eyes left her concerned.

“Sorry, sir,” the man offered. “I don't believe in the practice, but I'm not the president of the railroad.”

“Understood,” Noah replied tersely, “Smoking car or stock car?”

“Smoking, sir, but with any luck the conductor in St. Louis will be a good man and you and the little lady won't have any problems getting to Denver.”

She watched Noah place the tickets inside his coat. “Thank you for your help and honesty,” he offered.

“You're welcome. Next person.”

As she and Noah left the depot, she noted that his cold manner remained.

“We have to ride the train separately? Men can't ride with women?” she asked.

“No. Here the races are separated by law. On some trains, people like us are relegated to the smoking car, and on others it's the stock car with whatever animals are being transported.”

“We may have to ride across the country with pigs or goats?”

“Or horses or cattle,” he said bitterly. “What would you like to do for the rest of the day?” He appeared so incredibly angry his scar seemed to throb.

“If you prefer to return to the boardinghouse, that would be fine.”

“No. I need to do something to rid me of this mood. When I took the train home for my mother's wedding I went through Texas and there was no discrimination, but being here reminds me why I usually avoid traveling by rail whenever possible. I detest how humiliating it's designed to be.”

There was discrimination in Cuba, and it was one of the things men like General Maceo railed against. If and when the railroads came to her country she hoped such ideas wouldn't be instituted.

“Pilar, is there something you'd like to do?” he asked again cutting into her musings.

“My apologies. I was thinking of home. Yes, there is something. I'd like to walk on the beach and say good-bye.”

“To whom?”

“My Cuba, the sky, the ocean.”

“There's ocean in California.”

“But these are the waters of
my
ocean. I was born on them.” She looked up to see how he might be taking her request. “You think I'm just a silly woman from the countryside, don't you?”

“No,” and he added, “Never.”

She looked away. She was already homesick. “Just for a short while is all I ask.”

“We can stay for the rest of the day if you like.”

His words to her on the night of the sword fight returned.
Whatever you desire . . . I will lay at your feet.
She compared him to the man who'd been so curt with her back at the room and wondered if she'd ever know the true Noah Yates. “I'd like that.”

“Then shall we? I doubt the Spanish will sail up and attempt to take you from me on American soil in broad daylight.”

They found a stretch of beach a short distance away. The wind was rising and there were a few people watching the curling waves, but she and Noah continued on until they found a deserted spot. For a few moments they stood and just looked out at the blue water. There was a small boat out near the horizon. Pilar filled her lungs with the tangy air and let the wind bring solace to the sadness in her soul. “I will miss this,” she said quietly and looked up to meet his eyes. She had no idea what he might be thinking, but the intensity was familiar. Memories of being in his arms resurfaced and she hastily turned her mind to something else, something she felt needed to be made clear. “I'm very grateful for what you've done for me. To pay you back by stealing from your family isn't something I'd ever do.”

“I'll take you at your word, so let's not speak of this again.”

She nodded and focused again on the waves. “Will you buy another boat?”

“Yes. Unless you'd care to steal me another.”

She was about to take offense until she saw the whisper of his smile. “When did you first go to sea?”

When he didn't reply she saw that the smile had been replaced by an emotionless mask, as if the question had triggered something unpleasant. “My apologies. I didn't mean to pry. I'm going down to the water.”

Noah watched her walking away. He supposed she was owed an answer, but he'd held on to that event so closely, he didn't know where to begin, how much to reveal, or if he should reveal any of it at all. If he'd been unable to share the experience with his brother, Drew, someone he'd known and loved his entire life, how was he expected to do so with a wife of one day? Her choice to come to the beach was a good one, though. He missed being on the water. It was his balm, his companion, his life, and he, too, needed to say good-bye.

He walked down to join her at the water's edge, and for a moment stood silently at her side. “I was shanghaied at the age of eighteen.”

She didn't hide her surprise. “That's akin to impressment, isn't it?”

“Yes, and at the time perfectly legal in America.”

“How can it be legal to steal someone away? Sounds like slavery. This is a very strange country.”

“I agree, but when the backers of the practice are in the government they write the laws in their favor.”

She turned and stared.

So he told her a bit about the abductors, known as
crimps
, and the boarding masters who employed the crimps. “The crimps are paid for each abducted man turned over to the ship captains. The more men supplied, the more blood money they earn, as it's called. Once you're abducted, they make you sign a contract called the articles, and by law you had to serve a year on board, sometimes two, or risk prison.”

“And some of these crimps were in the government?”

“Yes. At one time two men, Joseph Franklin and George Lewis, were elected to our state's legislature. Both were well-known crimps.”

“Where were you abducted?”

“From a San Francisco tavern, where I was celebrating my birthday with some friends.”

“Were your friends taken, too?”

“No, they managed to escape during the melee.”

“Did your mother and brothers know about this?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“How long were you away from your family?”

“Almost two years.”

She turned her eyes back to the water. “That's a very sad story.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “The only good that came out of it was learning to love the sea.”

She was quiet for a few moments before asking, “You don't talk about this often, do you?”

“No. How'd you know?”

She shrugged. “Just a guess.”

“It's a good guess.”

There was a large, water-weathered log behind them and she walked over to it and sat down. When she folded back her skirt and exposed her legs, his eyes widened, then widened further at the sight of her removing her dark stockings. “What are you doing?”

“Taking these things off, so I can put my feet in.”

He scanned the surroundings.

“No one's nearby. I hate stockings almost as much as I do skirts and dresses. They're hot and clammy and useless really.”

She snatched off the offending hosiery, rolled them up and set them beside her. She righted her skirt but the remembered sight of her bared legs drove off all thoughts of being shanghaied, and his manhood tightened in appreciation.

“Are you going to join me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Oh come on. No one's going to see you. We're going to be riding on the train with pigs for saints' sake, you should at least have a bit of fun, first.”

She was as alluring as a sea sprite, but the fun Noah wished to have with her had nothing to do with pigs or getting his feet wet. “You go ahead.”

“I think you need more fun in your life, Mr. Yates.”

“I've heard that.”

“You should take it to heart.”

He didn't reply. He was too busy basking in her smile and the joy she seemed to find in life. His joy had been stolen and the thought made the dark memories return. He cursed himself for allowing them to resurface and wished he could go back to a time a few days ago when she'd been all he could think about.

“Are you unwell?”

Her concern brought him back. “No. I'm fine.”

She didn't appear convinced, so to keep her from attempting to delve deeper into his feelings, he sat and pulled off his boots.

“You're going to join me?”

“I am.” With the hopes that his mind would be free again. His socks came next and he took a moment to roll up the legs of his trousers. Finished, he stood. “Now, show me how to have fun.”

She punched him in the arm. Hard. “You're it!” And she took off down the beach.

Mouth open at her audacity, he barked a laugh and ran after her. She was fast. With her skirt held high, and her laughter rising, she led him on a merry chase. As he closed the distance between them, she looked back, screamed with mock fright and ran faster. She headed out into the surf and he followed. Two strides later, he grabbed her and swung her up into his arms and began to spin around, all the while miming tossing her in. “Don't you dare!” She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Then I claim a boon.” A moment ago he'd been under the black clouds of his past and now he felt like he was being bathed in sunlight.

“Crazy American! Put me down!”

Instead he spun them around a few more times and each time pretended to toss her away. Their laughs melded and rose. Finally, so overwhelmed he ached with the sweetness of it, he slowed and stopped. He wanted to visually feast on her for the rest of his life.

She asked quietly, “What do you claim as your boon?”

“Two things.”

“Two!”

He tossed her high up in the air and she was still screaming with laughter when he caught her again.

“Okay, two! What do you want?”

“One, that you address me by my given name.”

She quieted.

“You've been addressing me as Mr. Yates—although I did enjoy being your
querido
this morning.”

“And the second, Greedy Noah from California.”

“A kiss.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” He watched her roll her eyes. “Think of it as practice,” he chuckled softly.

“I think you're taking advantage of me.”

“And I think you're trying to wiggle out of your debt.”

She leaned up and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “There. Debt paid.”

“You call that a kiss?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Still holding her he walked out of the water and back towards the beach.

“Where are we going?”

“To sit so we can discuss this. And I am having fun, by the way.”

She gave him another roll of her eyes.

He sat on the log. She made move to leave his lap. “You're fine where you are.”

But in Pilar's mind, she wasn't fine. Their intimate positioning made her very aware of him and the closeness of their bodies exuded a heat that began playing havoc with her breathing and her ability to maintain the aloofness she thought necessary.

“So, about that poor excuse for a kiss.”

“It wasn't poor.”

He nodded. “So poorly done that I think you should try again.”

“You are truly overstepping your bounds.”

He brushed his lips fleetingly over her cheek, and her eyes slid closed.

“You think so?” he murmured.

“I know so,” she somehow managed to reply. Soft lingering kisses burned over her jaw and the shell of her ear. “You're not playing fair, American.”

“This is how the game is played,
querida
. . .”

His mouth moved to hers, inviting, seducing, inflaming, and soon, because she had no will, she began to respond. She heard him sigh with pleasure and felt his warm palm roaming lazily over her spine. He enticed her mouth to open and his tongue teased and cajoled. She was eased closer until his hard chest was flush against her breasts and the intensity sent her senses soaring like a kite caught in the wind. Last night, she'd been caught off guard by passion's overwhelming power and in truth she was a novice still, but she reveled in the way he made her feel.

He finally pulled away, and a moment later she opened her eyes. He ran a worshipping finger over her tingling bottom lip, then raised her mouth for yet another. When he reluctantly withdrew again his burning gaze held her in thrall.

“Is my debt paid?” she asked hoping being flippant would help her find herself again.

“For now.” He kissed the faint brown freckles dusting the crowns of her cheeks. “I like your spots.”