Destiny's Captive (8 page)

“Noah Yates. I want you to meet my sister, Desa Banderas.”

Upon hearing her surname, Noah froze.

Miguel added, “Desa is visiting from Santo Domingo.”

He bowed over her hand. “My pleasure, senora. Are you kin to the Banderases of Santiago, Cuba?”

“No.”

He noticed the slight tremor in her hand and the hint of unease in her gaze. Scenting prey, the tiger inside Noah smiled.

Miguel said to her, “Noah is one of my business partners. We've been friends for years.”

“Have we met before?” he asked innocently.

“No,” she replied again, adding a hasty shake of denial. He saw no evidence of the telltale scar on the back of her hand, but he found her reaction to him interesting. Was she really from Santo Domingo?

“Did you come to Florida alone, senora?” he asked.

Miguel responded, “No, she's here with her lovely daughters, Doneta and Pilar.”

Noah kept his features schooled. Of course there were undoubtedly more than one Pilar Banderas in the world and what were the odds that the daughter would be the one he'd been seeking, but something inside told him she was.
Finally!
The mother watched him closely. He smoothly turned back to Ventura. “If they're as lovely as their mother, I'd be honored to meet them whenever you find the time.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. He sensed she was uncertain as to whether he was a threat or not and he planned to keep that uncertainty intact for the moment. He bowed to her with all the grace he'd learned from his own mother. “I hope you and your daughters enjoy your visit.”

“Thank you.”

His elation masked, he left them and moved into the crowd to get something to eat. Drew was correct. Having fun was fun.

Noah occupied himself with his small plate and with trying to guess which of the women in attendance would turn out to be the one he was hunting. There were quite a few to pick from. He eliminated the tall ones, like the lovely in the white gown standing nearby, whose smile let him know she was interested. He found her interesting as well, but not enough to make him veer from the path he'd set. Moving through the mob, he changed positions and took up a spot near the doors leading out to the verandah. Another beauty, this one in a rose-colored gown and surrounded by a gaggle of cow-eyed young men had the short stature he was in search of. When his gaze brushed hers, the furtive response in her eyes gave him pause. She nodded a cursory greeting before returning her attention to the men, but there was a distinct tenseness in her neck and shoulders that made him wait and watch. He'd been keeping a discreet eye on Desa Banderas as well, and so far she hadn't approached either of her chicks. He wondered if her avoidance was due to the extraordinary number of people packed into the ballroom or her way of throwing him off the scent to keep them safe. Time would tell.

Pilar watched Yates watching Doneta and cast a quick gaze around the crowd to find her mother eyeing him as well. Pilar wanted to hear her mother's take on how being introduced to him had gone, but she held off, hoping he'd soon leave. She kept reminding herself that he had no idea what she looked like, but believing it was difficult.

To further complicate matters, her uncle approached. “Ah, Pilar. There you are.” He took her hand. “There's a gentleman I want you to meet.”

Instinctively, she knew who he meant. “I—was on my way to get some cake.”

“This'll only take a moment.”

So she let herself be led through the room and over to Noah Yates.

“Noah. Someone here I want you to meet. This is my niece Pilar, Desa's eldest daughter.”

His dark eyes met hers and she swore she was going to shake apart. Yates took her small hand in his large one and bowed over it. He seemed to hesitate for a second before bringing it slowly to his lips. The touch burned and sent a shaft of heat up her arm so strong she almost yanked her hand from his. Instead, she forced herself to say, “My pleasure. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am. I hope you are as well.” She noted that he still held her hand and that there appeared to be a muted humor in his strong gaze.

“Oh, yes,” he responded. “Since I don't know anyone else here besides your uncle, may I impose on you to stay and talk awhile. I hear you're from Santo Domingo. I have family there and was wondering if the country is really as unstable as the newspapers are reporting.”

Her uncle looked across the room. “Ah, my wife is waving me over. You two talk and I'll go see what she wants.”

Pilar wanted to beg that he stay but reminded herself of Doneta's words. Yates didn't know what she looked like, so she relaxed. “Where's your home, Mr. Yates?”

“California.”

“What's it like there?”

“Warm, but sometimes cold in winter.”

“Ah.”

“Have we met before?”

She tensed. “I don't believe so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. It's said everyone has a twin somewhere. Maybe you met a woman that I remind you of.”

“That's indeed possible.”

The musicians struck up the first music of the evening, a waltz.

“Would you care to dance?”

Pilar, wanted to scream, “No!” but having always been known for her bravery, she reminded herself of that and met his eyes fearlessly. “Thank you. Yes, I would.”

And so, she found herself out among the dancers with one hand captured in his while his other hand burned her waist through the fabric of her new mint green gown. As they moved in time with the music, the heat of his body wafted over her in a way that was dizzying. He was graceful and well trained. She on the other hand had to concentrate on her steps because in spite of her brave front, she was shaking inside.

“You dance well,” he told her.

“Thank you.”

Looking up at him was akin to looking into the face of a tiger, and an amused one at that. It was almost as if he knew . . . Startled, her eyes shot to his.

As if having read her thoughts, he turned her to the music and said, “Yes, my little pirate. We meet again.”

And Pilar did the only thing she could think to do. She ran!

Forcing her way through the crowd in an effort to flee, Pilar must've said “Excuse me” a hundred times. Dancers were pushed aside, diners' drinks splashed, plates were jostled, guests yelled in outrage. She drew the shocked attention of everyone in the room, but she didn't care. She had to get away. A quick look over her shoulder showed him striding determinedly in her wake while smiling, of all things. She had no idea what his intentions were, but she didn't want to find out. When she reached the wide open foyer, there were only a handful of people about, so she hiked up her gown and ran as fast as her heels would allow. She debated heading outside but didn't want to be lost in the unfamiliar streets, so she flew up the wide staircase that led to the living quarters with the hopes of maybe locking herself in a room until she could think of a way out of this catastrophe. He was right behind her, following her with an easy, almost leisurely stride she found absolutely infuriating. That he'd toyed with her on the dance floor added to her rising temper. Running down the hallway, she passed her uncle's sitting room. Upon seeing the crossed rapiers hanging above the mantel inside, she ran in. She snatched one free, turned, and found Yates standing in the doorway. He folded his arms and leaned against the jamb.

“Swords, is it?” he asked.

Remembering her grandfather's training sessions, Pilar kept her back straight, her eyes on him and the rapier extended, raised and at the ready.

“Then I guess the answer is yes.” He approached and she warily took a few steps back.

To her surprise he took down the other rapier. While testing its weight and heft, he spoke. “One of the things my very Spanish mother insisted upon was that my brothers and I learn the art of fencing. Not because she expected us to defend ourselves, but because it's what all well brought up Spanish sons were expected to master.”

By then her uncle, mother, sisters, and a large group of guests were lined up behind him.

“Noah, what is this?” Ventura demanded.

Yates took a moment to remove his jacket. “A private affair and I insist you stay out of the way.”

“Pilar!” her uncle snapped. “Put down that sword!”

“I can't.”

The two combatants were slowly circling each other.

“So, you know
Destreza?
” Yates asked her, sounding impressed. In Spanish the word meant “skill” and was applied to that country's version of swordplay.

“
La Verdadera Destreza
,” she countered. The True Art. Unlike the linear swordfights taught in places like Italy, Destreza was conducted on an imaginary circle.

“Noah! I demand an explanation.”

“Miguel, unless you want your niece handed over to the authorities, I suggest you let the two of us handle this. Piracy is against the law, isn't it, Pilar?”

Miguel croaked, “Piracy?”

His wife, Simona, swooned and fainted in a heap at his feet.

Out of the corner of her eye, Pilar saw her sister and mother. Both looked horrified. Her mother called out, “Mr. Yates!”

He turned and Pilar attacked so swiftly, her blade cut his chin and would've done more damage had he not instantly brought his own blade up to block her next attempt.

He touched his fingers to the wound and the sight of the blood staining his fingers made him look at her with a mixture of admiration and surprise. “Well, well. You do know how to use that, don't you? I thought it was just a prop when we first met, but you have my attention now. Very unfair of your mother to try and distract me, however.”

“You're bigger and stronger. I need all the advantages I can get.”

They resumed the circular dance: parried, feinted, crossed blades, withdrew, attacked, and repeated the dance again and again until the sharp sound of metal against metal created its own song.

As they crossed swords again, instead of Pilar retreating, she whirled like a dervish, slashed low, and almost caught him off guard again, but he was faster.

“You are very, very good,
chiquita
, but another unfair move.”

She circled and tossed back, “You may have been trained by fancy Spaniard teachers, but I was trained by a pirate.” And she attacked again, putting all her weight into her parries, but as she'd noted, he was bigger and stronger and had no trouble holding her off.

“You want unfair?”

His lightning-fast rapier severed the band of fabric across her left shoulder and the edge of her gown fell forward to reveal the white strapless corset beneath. Caught off guard, her mouth dropped open. She grabbed her dress to keep herself covered. Her eyes shot fury.

“Being the gentleman that I am, I didn't cut your blade side. Do you yield?”

“No.” And to drive the point home, she slashed the other strap, not caring about her scandalous appearance. “I'll save you the trouble.” She continued to circle.

He laughed as if he were having the time of his life. “Ah, my little pirate. You're a woman after my own heart.”

“I'll take it on the point of my sword.”

“I think not. You and I have things to discuss, so let's end this.”

He attacked. Pilar did her best to hold her ground, but his skill and power exceeded her own. She held him off for as long as she was able but eventually, her arm ached with her efforts to parry his unrelenting strikes. The sound of the battle filled the room. She was forced to retreat farther and farther until the wall was at her back and she had nowhere else to go. Shedding tears of fury and frustration, she tossed her rapier aside and turned away so she wouldn't see the triumph that she assumed he'd show.

Instead, he whispered, “
Reina guerreras
shouldn't cry,” and gently cleared a tear from her cheek.

Startled, hearing herself called a warrior queen, she turned to him and the depth in his eyes captured her like a powerful stormy sea.

“You fought well,” he told her. “Hold your head high. You've nothing to be ashamed of.”

He left her for a moment to retrieve his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Holding her gaze, he said, “Miguel, send your guests home. I need to speak with you and her mother.”

Her uncle finally found his voice. “Yes. We can use my study.”

And to Pilar's surprise Yates picked her up and carried her past the wide-eyed spectators and out of the room.

N
oah would be the first to admit that he had no idea what he was about. What he did know was that battling her left him feeling more alive than he had in years. Her spirit and sheer fearlessness opened up a window in the black recesses of his soul to let in a light so intoxicating and freeing, he craved more, and because of that she'd become the woman he wanted in his life.

“You can put down now,” she directed coolly when they reached the silent book-lined study. Instead, he took a moment to feast on her features, the still damp eyes, the tensely set brown jaw, the pridefully raised chin. The night they'd first met, he had no idea the hooded cloak concealed such a beautiful gaminlike face. Her dark curly hair, its texture resembling his own, was cut short like a youth's, thus setting her apart from most of the fashionable women of the era, yet the style seemed to suit her unconventional nature perfectly. She faced him like an angry prize of war, a true warrior queen—bested but not conquered.

“As you wish.” He set her on her feet and watched her pull his jacket closed over her exposed corset. She reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. Handing it to him she said, “Your chin's bleeding.”

He took it with a ghost of a smile and pressed it against the nick.

“I won't apologize for that.”

“I don't expect you to.”

Her mother entered with the young woman in the rose-colored gown he'd noticed earlier. Based on the strong resemblance to both Desa and Pilar, she had to be the other daughter. Both women shot him impatient glares and went to her side.

“I'm fine,” she assured them and sent him a blaze-filled look that left him quietly exhilarated.

Miguel Ventura entered next with his wife. Concern filling his face, he looked first to his niece and upon finding her alive and in once piece, asked Noah, “Now what is this about piracy?”

Noah's gaze shifted back to the woman in his coat. “Pilar, do you wish to tell the story?”

“I'm sure you can tell it better than I.”

He inclined his head and gave her uncle a truthful but abbreviated version of both his abduction and the theft of the
Alanza. W
hen he concluded, Miguel appeared to be speechless. His wife wasn't.

“I knew we shouldn't have taken them in! Soldiers could come knocking on our door at any moment. I'll not lose everything we have because of your sister and her trash!”

Miguel snapped, “Be quiet or leave us! My apologies, Desa.”

The blaze in Desa Banderas's eyes mimicked her daughter's. “Accepted.” She then warned Simona, “Do not slur my girls again.”

“Or what?” she sneered.

Desa's powerful slap sent her sister-in-law reeling. “That's what! Now, shut your foul mouth!”

Simona was so stunned, it apparently took a moment to register what had just occurred. Hand to her face, tears flooded her eyes. “Miguel!”

He gritted out, “Go put some cold water on your face, Simona.”

“That's all you have to say?”

“Yes. Leave us!”

With a wail, she hurried from the room.

The still seething Desa spun to Noah. “So, what do you want in compensation?”

“Permission to marry your daughter.”

The room went still as a tomb.

Ventura offered an uncomfortable-sounding chuckle. “Surely, you're joking.”

“No. Would you rather she be turned over to the authorities?” he asked, viewing Pilar's shocked face.

“Of—of course not,” he stammered. “But—Noah, you don't even know her.”

“True, but I would like to, and I think we would suit. If you'd prefer a courting period, I'd agree to say, a month, two at the most.” He knew he couldn't just carry her off like he wished, and being well raised, he'd conform to the necessary protocols, but within his parameters. “I'd like to get back to California as soon as I can to resurrect my business, with my wife.”

Her mother finally found speech. “And if you don't suit?”

“As I said, I believe we will.” He glanced Pilar's way. She was staring at him as if he'd suddenly grown two heads. “Not what you were expecting?” he asked her.

“No.” It came out a whisper.

“Neither was I.” His eyes lingered on her for a long moment before he turned his attention back to Miguel and her mother. “Discuss my proposal and let me know what you decide. I'll be out on the patio.”

And he exited.

In the silence that followed his departure, Pilar was still so stunned, speech refused to come. She looked to her mother, who appeared equally as outdone.

Doneta asked her uncle, “Tio, do you think he would really give her over to the authorities?”

He shrugged. “I've never known him to be anything but honorable and a man of his word. If what he told us was true he has more than ample grounds on which to bring charges.”

“But I don't wish to be courted or marry, Mama!” Pilar stated wildly.

“I understand that, Pilar, but do you wish to be imprisoned?” she was asked.

“Of course not.”

“And we don't wish for you to be either.”

Her uncle mused aloud, “Maybe if we offer to get the boat back to him—”

Her mother confessed: “It was sunk by the Spanish navy. And Miguel, as much as I hate to agree with Simona, there is a chance that the government may seek her out.” She told him about Pilar's run-in with the navy.

He threw up his hands. “
Dios!
This gets better and better. Desa, what kind of child have you raised?”

“A fervent but reckless one sometimes.” There was sadness in the smile she sent Pilar's way.

Pilar didn't mind her mother's description but had no intentions of spending her remaining years being described as the wife of Noah Yates. She'd never been courted by a man in her life.

Her mother asked her uncle, “What do you know of him?”

“That he's very wealthy and from an old and venerable Spanish family in California. She could do worse.”

“I'd think a man of that stature would have his pick of any woman he fancies.”

He shrugged again. “Apparently he's taken a fancy to your daughter.”

Doneta said, “Tio, maybe if you talk to him he will see reason.”

Pilar shook her head. She had come to a decision. “No. If anyone talks to him it should be me.”

“Are you certain?” her uncle asked.

“Yes.” But it was lie. She wasn't certain at all. In fact, having to broach this madness with Yates filled her with dread.

Her uncle said, “You've done him a great wrong, Pilar. That ship was his livelihood and my livelihood is tied to his as well. He could've easily gone straight to the American authorities; instead he's offered you something you just might want to consider.”

Properly chastised, Pilar knew he was telling her the truth but it was not what she wanted to hear. “Yes, Tio.” She felt as if the world had suddenly turned on its axis and now more than ever she wished she had listened to Tomas and chosen another target. Marriage? To him? She had to find a way to talk him out of it without being jailed.

“Let's repair your dress first,” her mother suggested.

Needle and thread were found and after a few well-placed stitches, Pilar departed.

As she wound her way through the house, a part of her hoped he'd changed his mind and gone away, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. Walking outside into the torch-lit darkness, she heard off in the distance the faint buzz of the guests making their departure. The gossips were going to have a field day. She was truly sorry for turning her uncle's birthday
rumba
into a debacle but there was no help for that now. The swordplay was something people would be whispering about behind their hands and relating to others for months, if not years, to come.

The scandal aside, it was an idyllic night. The moon was high, casting light along the stone path she was following and the air was sweet with the scent of flowers in bloom. Too bad her nerves weren't as peaceful or serene.

He was sitting in a chair on the patio when she walked up. A lone, lit candle inside of a glass globe sat in the middle of the table and sent wavering flickers of light over his presence. He stood gallantly at her approach.

“I've been expecting you. Join me, please.”

She handed him his coat and as he helped her with her chair, she swallowed her nervousness. For a few moments she studied him silently and tried to decide the right tack to take. “From what my uncle tells me, you are wealthy enough to have any woman in the world, so why me?”

“Because you're the only one who can wield a rapier.”

She didn't believe that.

“It's what a woman with your spirit and fire deserves.”

That made her heart pound. She'd never had a man say anything so potent to her before. “You can't possibly care for me.”

“No, but I hope to in time, and that you will come to care for me as well.”

His soft-toned reply set off more inner havoc, even as she wondered if he had some sort of mind sickness. “I don't understand.”

“Neither do I but I'd like to try and sort it out. Would you prefer to be my mistress instead?”

“Of course not.”

“I didn't think so.”

She thought she saw a faint smile as the light played over his scarred face and she wished for full day so she could see him better. “For the sake of argument suppose we do marry. As my husband you can do whatever you wish to me. Are you doing this so you can take your revenge on me for stealing your ship?”

“No, Pilar. I may appear to be a barbarian on the outside, but I am a gentleman underneath. As my wife, you'll have all the advantages a woman of my set has: a nice home, servants if you choose, money of your own. Whatever your heart desires, within reason, I will move heaven and earth to set at your feet.”

Her heart stopped and she stared. Once again rendered speechless, she finally managed to say, “This doesn't make sense.”

“We are in agreement. Have you ever been courted?”

She wanted to lie and say
Dozens of times
, but . . . “No.”

His voice was soft. “Have you given your heart to anyone?”

This was the most unnerving situation she'd ever faced. In spite of his quiet tone and manner she found him so overwhelming, she wanted to hike up her skirts and flee again. “No.”

“Then let me court you,
chiquita.
Let me show you what it means to be with a man who finds you intriguing and yes, desires you. I promise, we'll go slow.”

Pilar's heart was pounding; her breathing heightened, her senses spinning.

“Say, yes,
mi pequeño pirata
. . .”

Pilar couldn't've said her name.

“If you're worried about being so far from your family, my mother will be as fiercely protective of you as your own. You'll have two sisters-in-law who will help you along, and should anything untoward happen to me, my brothers will care for you as if you were their own blood.”

“But I don't wish to marry you.”

“Understood, but many couples in arranged marriages have managed to find their way.”

“Not always. My mother left her
novio
at the altar to run away with my father.”

“Is that where you get your determination?”

She'd hope to throw him off pace with that example; instead he'd responded with hushed-voice praise that once again set her senses spinning. “Suppose I offer to pay you for your ship?”

He evaluated her silently for a moment. “You offered to pay for it, but not return it. Why is that?”

She hesitated so long he coaxed, “Pilar?”

She finally confessed, “It was sunk. Cannon fire from the Spanish navy.”

“Were you on board?”

“Yes.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Bumps and bruises. Swallowed a large amount of seawater . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“And my
Alanza
was being used for . . .?”

“Gunrunning.”

He chuckled softly, sat back, and folded his arms. “For the rebels?”

She nodded and hoped her answer would scare him off. As she'd noted to her mother, no man wanted a wife who smuggled guns.

“Is the government searching for you?”

“Possibly.”

“As the wife of an American citizen you may be offered some measure of protection should they come hunting. Yet another plus for saying yes.”

But who would protect her from him? came the thought.

His next question brought her back. “How long have you been with the rebels?”

“Since my father's death in 'seventy-seven.”

“And you were how old?”

“Fifteen.” She'd begged her mother to let her join the Revolutionary Army, but because she was deemed too small to fight, she'd been attached to the Mambi women who ran the support columns.