Destiny's Captive (2 page)

O
n board the
Alanza
in the small quarters belowdecks that served as Noah's office and bedroom, he and Kingston prepared to part company. Kingston would be journeying by ferry to Florida to take the train up the East Coast to rendezvous with his wife and son now residing in Boston. Noah would be raising anchor in the morning to head home to California to attend his mother's wedding. A decade had passed since Simmons led the two men away from the island prison camp. Due to that shared experience they were as close as brothers. The articles they'd signed bound them to the heinous captain for two long years, but once free they'd formed Yates and Howard Imports and amassed a small fortune selling merchandise from all corners of the world.

“How long do you plan to stay in California?” Kingston asked.

Noah shrugged. “I'm not certain. I find I can only stomach being on land a short while, but I am anxious to see my family. I'll wire you if I get antsy.”

The smile on King's face made Noah ask, “What's so humorous?”

“That old woman and her fish. Just thinking back on her touting its, uh, qualities.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “At her age I doubt she can even remember what it was like to be in a man's bed.”

“Speaking of which, what did you think of Senorita Bernita Mendoza?”

“She's lovely as a sunrise but has the brains of a barnacle.”

Kingston laughed.

“I think my mother may have given her parents the impression that I was seeking a bride.” The family was distantly related to his mother and had recently settled in Cuba after fleeing the war and upheaval in Santo Domingo.

“But you aren't.”

“Of course not. The sea is my mistress and doesn't bore me with talks of gossip and gowns, which is all the girl talked about last night.”

“You need a wife to bring light into that dark soul of yours.”

“I like my dark soul but if you find me a woman willing to live on the sea, I may consider changing my stance.”

“I'll see if one can be found. What are your plans this evening?”

“I foolishly agreed to escort Bernita to the opera. After that I'll come back here and prepare to sail for home.”

“Fine. Then, I'll take my leave now.”

The two men shared a brotherly embrace.

“Godspeed, Noah.”

“And to you as well. My regards to your wife and son.”

Kingston departed, leaving Noah alone.

Noah walked up the short stairway that led above deck and stood looking out over the congested harbor. He couldn't wait to weigh anchor and feel the roll of the waves beneath the
Alanza
and the wind in his face. He and a skeleton crew would sail west to Brownsville, Texas, and dock the boat at a shipyard he'd used in the past. The men would make their way to their homes and he'd take the train to San Francisco with the hopes of arriving in plenty of time for his mother's wedding so he could walk her down the aisle. After his father Abraham's death, she'd raised Noah and his brothers alone. It was time she found love for herself, and he considered Max Rudd, an old family friend, to be a perfect match for the strong-willed matriarch. It had been almost a year since he'd seen his family. On his last visit to Destino, the ranch where they'd all grown up, he'd been pleasantly surprised to find his oldest brother, Logan, married to a feisty golden-eyed seamstress from Philadelphia named Mariah. Since that time, they'd presented his mother with her first grandchild, a baby girl named Maria, who, he'd learned by correspondence, had inherited her mother's golden eyes. Even more surprising was the recent letter from his mother informing him that his second eldest brother, lawyer Andrew, was now married as well. Drew, who everyone believed would spend the rest of his years sowing his wild oats from the Bay to Mexico, married? The thought of that made him smile. He couldn't wait to meet the woman who finally saddled him. Noah was glad his brothers had also found love and in a small way envied them their happiness, but he had no intentions of marrying because he enjoyed his solitary seafaring life and he doubted any woman would willingly embrace what King called his black soul. The optimistic, carefree young man he'd been lay buried beneath the experiences set into motion by Captain Alfred Simmons. He wore the darkness left behind like a heavy winter coat and it hampered his ability to reclaim the joy he'd once found in life. Although he'd never admit it to anyone, he had vivid nightmares about those terrible months on the island. Still. They'd tapered off somewhat in the past few years, but not enough to declare himself free of the nocturnal terror that made him bolt awake, shaking and drenched in cold fear-fed sweat. Yet another reason he eschewed taking a wife.

“We're going ashore, Captain. See you at dawn.”

It was one of the mates, the red-haired Irishman Henry Dennison. With him were the other crewmen who'd be making the sail back to the States.

“Enjoy the ladies,” Noah told them, knowing where they were headed this last night in Cuba.

Henry returned wryly, “Oh we will.”

After their departure, Noah went below to read and rest up for his evening at the opera with Bernita “the Barnacle” Mendoza.

B
ernita leaned over in her seat and whispered, “By the scowl on your face one would think you're not having good time.”

“One would be correct.”

Not even the theater's darkness could mask the shock on her lovely face.

“I'm just being truthful,” he informed her.

She huffed around and fanned herself angrily.

It was difficult to be pleasant when her need to change gowns—twice—had made them arrive at the opera house so late they'd been denied entrance to the performance until the first intermission. Onstage the caterwauling woman attempting to pass herself off as Bizet's Carmen was making the long evening in her company even more exasperating. Behind him Bernita's duenna was snoring loudly enough to be heard over the orchestra.

“Then at the next intermission I demand you take me home.”

“My pleasure.”

The fan moved faster. “You are no gentleman.”

“I agree.”

True to his word they left during the intermission and after the hired coach was brought around, Noah saw the ladies home. He stepped inside to say good night to Bernita's parents, who glanced between the silent American and their furious daughter with confusion.

Noah lied: “I wasn't feeling well and Bernita was gracious enough to allow me to return her home early.”

She scoffed derisively.

Her parents' eyes widened.

Deciding further explanation was unwarranted, he bowed and made his exit. Outside, he descended the stone stairs and undid the tie at his throat. Feeling much more relaxed, he crossed to the waiting coach. As his hand grasped the handle, suddenly something pointed and sharp was pressed hard against his spine. He froze.

A pleasant-sounding female voice instructed, “Please stand still, Mr. Yates. This rapier in your back has tasted men's blood for fifty years. I'd hate to add your name to the list.”

Noah didn't move. “If you want my wallet it's in my coat.”

“We're not petty thieves. Climb into the coach, please.”

Havana, with all its gaiety and vices, was a dangerous place, and beneath his coat was a holstered pistol, but the chances of getting off a shot before the woman ran the rapier through his liver were slim. Two men stepped out of the darkness and flanked him. Both had their faces hidden beneath bandanas and were carrying machetes—Cuba's weapon of choice. He chose to follow orders.

The door was opened.

“Slowly, now,” she cautioned.

He complied. As he stooped to enter, the sight of the two men occupying one of the benches made him pause. Now, there were at least five of them and only one of him. Six, when he counted the driver, who he assumed was part of their gang. The rapier was still pressed dangerously against his spine. The man on Noah's left reached into his coat and pulled the pistol free of the leather holster. “Please take the seat next to my friend by the window,” the woman ordered.

Again he did as he was told. After she and her masked companions were seated, the coach pulled away.

Sandwiched between the two men on his bench and facing the two men and the caped woman seated opposite him, Noah asked, “If you're not after my gold, what do you want? My life?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

No response.

That he might be shanghaied again began to play on his nerves and he swore he'd find a way to kill them before being forced into servitude again. “Who are you?”

Again, no response.

Filled with frustration, he wished he could see her more clearly. He wanted to be able to give the authorities a credible description should he somehow manage to escape, but her hood and the coach's shadowy interior hid her face and the voluminous folds of her black cape negated his ability to accurately gauge her size or weight. He had no problem seeing the rapier, however. She held it at rest across her lap and the silver glittered malevolently as the open windows caught the light of the passing lamps as the coach sped by.

After a short passage of time, the tang of seawater drifted to his nose. He turned his head to try and gauge his location but the partial view from the window offered only the blackness of night. The coach slowed and then stopped. He heard the sound of waves nearby.

“We're all going to step out now, Mr. Yates. No sudden moves or shows of bravado you Americans are so famous for. There are six of us and only one of you. We'd hate to have to shoot you with your own gun.”

Noah didn't want to be shot with his own gun either, yet every fiber of his being demanded he take some action to change the odds. He had no idea whether she'd lied about taking his life, but in truth they'd already had the opportunity to do so, so what was this about? His curiosity was high but in order to get answers he had to play along, at least for the moment.

The coach's door opened. The woman and the men seated with her stepped out first, followed by the man to his right. The man to his left stuck the nose of the gun in his side and prodded him to follow. He moved to the door and as he stooped to exit, two thunderous blows exploded across the back of his head and he pitched forward. It was the last thing he remembered.

“T
he next time, can we pick a much smaller man? Dios, he's heavy,” Tomas groused. He and Eduardo held the unconscious American between them with his lifeless arms slung over their shoulders. The toes of his expensive boots dragged on the surface of the worn dock. There weren't many people about. The vendors with true homes were gone for the day, while those who used their stands as their abodes were huddled in the shadows. A few orphans played in the moonlight and on the dark water, a few lights could be seen shining within some of the ships filling the harbor.

“Halt!”

Three soldiers out on patrol. Pilar had planned for this possibility, so she and the others stopped and waited for them to approach.

“What's going on here?” one of the soldiers asked.

Pilar pulled back her hood to reveal her aged face and replied in her crone's voice, “Drunk American. We're taking him back to his ship.”

The soldiers surveyed them. “He have any identification?”

“He has ship's papers and a passport in his coat.”

The soldier rifled through his clothes and extracted the items, along with his billfold. It was nearly impossible to read by the light of the moon but he attempted to do so. “And you found him where?”

Glad she'd had the forethought to remove Yates's holster, Pilar explained, “My bordello. Stupid American couldn't handle the girls or the rum.”

The soldier shook his head as though sharing her disdain. American attempts to annex Cuba went back to the time of President Thomas Jefferson. Spain hated the United States as much as the Cubans hated Spain.

“You know which boat is his?”

Grimacing beneath the American's weight, Tomas managed to say, “Yes. I'm her son and a fisherman. Made his acquaintance this afternoon. Rowed him out some of my catch.”

As if weighing their story, the soldier in charge eyed them for a long moment, then looked to his two companions. They replied with shrugs. After helping himself to the money in Yates's billfold, he handed it back, along with the passport and papers, and dismissed them with a wave. “Go.”

Pilar righted her hood and she and her companions continued on.

U
nder the light cast by the full moon, Pilar and her friends raised the anchor and slowly sailed out into open water. Yates was secured in his room belowdecks and would probably awaken soon, but for the moment, she stood at the bow and momentarily let go of her immediate worries to enjoy the journey. She'd been born at sea twenty-five years ago and she loved being out on the ocean. Her first voyages had been with her paternal grandfather, who traced his lineage back to the corsairs of North Africa's Barbary Coast. Part pirate, part smuggler, he'd loved thumbing his nose at the European navies almost as much as he'd loved her and her sister Doneta. When Pilar was ten years old, he'd lost his life aboard a ship during a hurricane, after which, her father, Javier, took up the family mantle. He too had lived outside the law, providing well for his wife and daughters by smuggling everything from guns and fake paintings to antiquities and rum. When the Ten Years' War began, in 1868, he'd declined to participate because it hadn't mattered to him who ruled the island of Cuba as long as nothing interfered with his clandestine endeavors. But when his three brothers joined the rebel army and were subsequently hanged for their participation, he fervently embraced the cause in order to avenge them, only to forfeit his own life during the war's closing years.

Now, she, her mother, sister, aunts, and cousins were a female coven of smugglers, counterfeiters, and forgers united by skill, blood, and a deep abiding hatred for Spain.

“Pilar. He's coming around.” It was Eduardo.

Giving the moon-laced water one last look, she headed below to check on their host.

N
oah came to, groggy and disoriented, in a dimly lit space. He was vaguely aware of lying on his back but there was nothing vague about the way his head ached. It throbbed like he'd been kicked by a horse wearing anvils. He tried to sit up. Realizing he was restrained immediately plunged him into panic and he struggled against the bonds while the nightmare of being chained in Captain Simmons's ship rose and took hold. A second or two later he saw that he was in his cabin and relaxed somewhat, until he remembered his abduction and fury followed; fury aimed at himself for being still susceptible to his inner fears and fury at his captors for evoking the response. He was spread-eagled atop his four-poster bed, tied by his wrists and ankles. His angry attempts to loosen the bonds were in vain. The intricate knots in the ropes had been fashioned tightly and well.

The cloaked woman, flanked by two masked men, entered the cabin and Noah stilled. Within the raised hood, a black veil covered her features. “My apologies for our methods, Mr. Yates,” she offered. “But it was necessary. If your head aches, I can offer you something that will ease it.”

“All I want is to be freed from these ropes,” he snarled.

“You will get your wish—when it's time.”

“What do you want from me?”

“We already have it.”

“And that is?”

“Your boat,” she replied simply.

He stiffened. “What do you want with my boat?”

“I can't tell you everything, Mr. Yates. A woman must have some mystery.”

He struggled again against the ropes.

“You may as well lie still. When my grandfather taught me those knots, he said they'd hold a dragon if need be and he's been proven correct.”

“What was he, a pirate?” he spat scathingly, hoping to offend her with words, since he had no other weapons.

“As a matter of fact, he was. Stealing boats is in my blood, I suppose.”

“I demand that you release me!”

She shook her head seemingly with pity. “We all have dreams, Mr. Yates.”

He shot back. “Pirates hang, you know.”

“Only those caught, and we have no intentions of doing so.”

“Why my boat?”

She shrugged. “It fits our needs, and I've shared all the information I plan to. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Do you wish to relieve yourself? I wouldn't want you to be any more uncomfortable than is necessary.”

“No,” he gritted out. What he wanted she wouldn't allow—which was to get his hands on her.

“Then I shall leave my companions to watch over you.” Offering him a nearly imperceptible nod of farewell, she took her leave.

And as she did, Noah bellowed with fury-fed frustration.

In the silence afterwards, he glanced over at the two masked men she'd left behind. “I'm a very wealthy man. I can pay whatever you ask if you'll cut me free.”

Silence.

“Do you value your lives so lowly that you'd let a woman lead you to the gallows, or does what she offer between her legs—”

Instantly, the gleaming blade of a machete was pressed against his throat. “Say one more word,” the man invited sinisterly from behind the bandanna, “and I will slit you from stem to stern. You know nothing of her or us. She's not a whore.”

Their eyes warred for a silent moment and Noah sneered, “It's easy to threaten a man tied down.”

His companion pulled him away and they returned to their positions by the door. Noah schooled his anger but he hated being in such an impotent position.

An hour later, the woman hadn't returned and Noah's shoulders were on fire from being in such an unnatural position for so long a period of time. He was certain that even if he could get free it would be a while before his arms functioned normally again.

When she finally arrived she had the silver rapier in hand, and he wondered if that was something else bequeathed to her by her pirate grandfather.

“It's time for us to part company, Mr. Yates. You've been an excellent host.”

He added her sarcasm to the list of things he didn't care for about his evening.

She walked over to the foot of the bed and took up a position between his spread-wide legs. When she slowly raised the rapier he instinctively shrunk back and he swore she smiled from behind the veil.

“My friend is going to cut you free. Make one false move and I will geld you.”

His jaw tightened.

“Do you understand?” she asked in a voice as soft as the shadows in the cabin.

He nodded tersely.

“Good.” And she silently signaled the man with the machete to approach. The blade sliced through the rope as easily as if it were a mango. Noah's right arm dropped free and he moaned with relief in spite of himself. The man walked around to the opposite side of the bed and a second later the left arm was cut loose.

As his ankles were released one by one, she cautioned during the process: “Remember. Don't move.” And because he believed her earlier threat, he complied.

No longer bound by the ropes, it might have been the perfect moment for him to mount an attack to change the odds but his arms weren't strong enough to pick up a spoon, let alone take on the pirate git with the rapier and her machete-armed companions. All he could do was lie there and pray the burn in his shoulders, ankles, and knees would subside soon.

“I'll give you a few moments to regain some of your strength,” she said to him, “and then we'll go above deck.”

Noah had no idea what awaited him but with each delayed moment, small amounts of life returned to his limbs.

She was apparently astute enough to anticipate that. “Let's go.”

Faced with the overwhelming odds and having his own pistol trained on him by one of the men, he moved slowly to the door.

Above deck, the night was bright with the moon and stars. If he had to meet his death, he preferred it be under the stars.

“Into the rowboat, please.”

He stilled.

Under the light of the lantern held aloft by one of the men, he studied her. Only then did he realize how short-statured she truly was. “The rowboat?”

“Yes, Mr. Yates. I told you we weren't after your life. Just the
Alanza.
That's Spanish. Is it named for your wife?”

“No. My mother.”

“Ah.”

Noah tried hard to see her face but the darkness, in combination with the veil, made it impossible.

“Shall we?” she asked, gesturing with the rapier. And in that split second of movement the light from the lantern fell on the only thing that might help him identify her in the future. An old scar in the form of an
X
gleamed palely on the back of her brown hand. “There's water and food from your stores. Your coat and papers are there also. I'd row west were I you.”

Noah studied the small woman who'd been the root of this maddening adventure and vowed aloud with soft menace: “I will find you if it takes the rest of my life, so stay alive until I come for you, my little pirate, because I will be coming.”

She visibly stiffened in reaction, giving him the evening's only measure of satisfaction.

Without another word, Noah climbed into the boat and was lowered down to the black surface of the sea. He checked the stars overhead in an effort to fix his position and forced his protesting arms to row west while his beloved ship sailed east and out of sight.

Pilar left the piloting to the crew and went back down to his quarters to see if he'd left anything of value behind; after all, she was from a family of rogues. Before bringing Yates aboard, she and Tomas did a hasty search for weapons and such to insure that if he somehow freed himself from her grandfather's dragon knots he wouldn't be able to mount a counterassault. The cursory inspection uncovered a few rifles and some knives, which she planned to turn over to the rebels, and now as she studied the space it seemed to resonate with his presence.
I will find you if it takes the rest of my life, so stay alive until I come for you, my little pirate, because I will be coming
. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the memory of his parting words and although she doubted he'd ever make good on the threat, the certainty in his tone made her heart pound with unease. Determined not to think about it, she walked over to the nightstand and picked up a framed photograph that was there. Staring back was a strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair. She was seated, wearing an ornate gown and flanked by three boys. She wondered if this was his mother. Looking closely at the boys, she was almost certain that the solemn-faced youngest of the three was Noah Yates. The eyes were the same, as was the then unscarred jaw. His brothers perhaps? Having no answer, she set the frame down again and crossed to a worn desk. It held two drawers. The top one was filled with charts, maps, and a ship's log. The bottom drawer revealed a large number of papers, which she withdrew. They were musical charts and she found that surprising. Having no musical training, she didn't know what tune the notes represented but penned across the top of one of the sheets were the words
Requiem for the Sea
and below that his name. Surely he wasn't a musical composer? As she slowly leafed through the seven pages, Tomas entered.