Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides) (34 page)

“Lucky, that’s what you are, Captain. A less robust man wouldn’t have survived your wounds. And you’re more than fortunate that whatever substance covered the knife resulted in only a temporary paralysis. With a few days’ rest, you’ll be hale and hearty again.” The physician closed his bag and peered through his spectacles at Lark, instantly realizing this was no docile patient.

“I don’t have the time to lie abed,” objected Lark and lifted himself to a sitting position on his bunk. For a few seconds, the cabin spun dizzily before him then righted itself. He still felt weak from loss of blood yet was more than grateful to have regained physical sensation in his arm and hip. For nearly three hours after his attack, he’d been unable to move. His worst fear was that he’d be paralyzed and unable to go after Marlee, but suddenly the numbness had started wearing away. Evidently whatever substance that had coated the pirate’s knife caused only a temporary paralysis. The next time he ran across the pirate who’d stabbed him, he’d be prepared. And next time was swiftly approaching.

The doctor shook his head. “You need your rest, sir.”

“I’ll mend faster if I’m on the open seas,” Lark insisted and rose unsteadily to show the man to the door.

“I won’t be responsible for your health,” the kindly, gray-haired physician solemnly uttered.

“Thank you for your help, sir, but I can take care of myself now.” With a weakened gait, Lark pulled himself up the stairs to the deck where he bade the doctor farewell. He called to Holcombe, who instantly scampered down from the rigging. “Have you spoken to the admiral of the fleet yet?”

“Aye, aye, sir. Even as we speak, the navy is organizing the men. A crew of the king’s finest will accompany us on board while four other ships sail beside us. We lift anchor at dawn.”

“Good job, Holcombe. Thank you for speaking for me when I couldn’t.”

“I’m pleased to help you. That Spaniard, Domingo, was also a help. Because of him, we now know that Silva has set his sights on the frigate’s cargo.”

“Damn the cargo! I don’t care if the bullion is lost at sea, all I want is to find Marlee—and finally rid myself of Manuel Silva forever.”

“This time we’ll find him, sir.” Holcombe smiled optimistically.

Lark nodded in grim determination. “Yes, and when I have that mangy cur in my hands, I’m going to end his miserable life.”

~ ~ ~

Manuel’s brigantine was buffeted by the strong winds which rose out of the west. The sky turned an ashen gray before shading to a deep, malevolent purple. Huge waves struck the ship’s hull, lifting it out of the water then dropping back again with a jarring motion. A storm was fast approaching, the smell of imminent rain filled Silva’s cabin. Marlee tensed in her chair each time the ship heaved upward, and it seemed her stomach followed suit.

She hadn’t seen Silva since she came on board and prayed never to lay eyes upon the man again. But she knew that soon he’d return to the cabin and she lived in dread of that moment. If only Lark would find her.

Where was Lark? Would she ever see him again? Had that horrid Diego, whom she’d heard boasting to Renaldo on the sloop about stabbing an Englishman, been speaking about Lark? Not Lark, she prayed, please don’t let the man have been Lark.

The bar lifted on the cabin door, startling Marlee out of her seat. With her heart thumping out a wild staccato rhythm, she expected to see Manuel. Instead, a thin woman whose dark hair reached to the middle of her calves entered Silva’s cabin while outside, a burly pirate stood guard. She wore a thin red skirt and white peasant blouse, and her feet were bare. Swinging her hips from side to side, she carried a tray that contained a bowl of broth, a piece of hard cheese, and a slice of freshly baked bread which she placed on a table.

Her dark eyes contemptuously roamed over Marlee. “Captain Silva has sent your supper. He asked me to tell you that he’ll join you when the storm ends. For now, you must eat and wait. He has more to do on his ship than pine after you, English
puta
.” She spoke with so much vehemence that Marlee flinched. The woman noticed and cackled. “I don’t know why Manuel wants you when he can have me.”

“Take him, please, for I don’t want him at all.” Marlee recovered herself and stared defiantly at the woman.

“Bah! You have no taste,
puta
. Now I, Rosalina Torres, know what a man like Manuel wants from a woman.”

“Give it to him then.”

Rosalina placed her hands on her hips and circled Marlee. “You think you’re grander than me with your fancy dress and talk. But you’re the same as me—no better, no worse than a
puta
.”

“Enlighten me, Rosalina. What is a
puta
?” Marlee didn’t really care what it was. She was gauging Rosalina, attempting to determine if she might be able to help her escape somehow whenever they docked.

An amused grin turned up the edges of Rosalina’s scarlet mouth. “A
puta
is what you’d call a whore in your language. Manuel says you’re his mistress, but I know better. There’s no need to use a fancy word. Maybe you bed Manuel for a while, but soon, he’ll grow tired of his fancy English lady like he did that other one. And then, well, you’ll be turned over to his men. You’ll be just like me.”

“No, I won’t. I’d kill myself first.” Marlee grew queasy. Perspiration droplets broke out upon her forehead. Suddenly she felt horribly and unaccountably ill when the ship gave a violent lurch. Falling to her knees, she held onto the table leg. “Please help me,” she begged Rosalina through pale lips.

“You’ve nothing but the seasickness,” was Rosalina’s adept diagnosis.

“No, no, I need your help to escape Manuel Silva.”

Rosalina looked dumbstruck. “Escape from Manuel? But why would you want to?” she asked, shaking her head in bafflement. “Manuel is a good lover. Maybe you’ll be fortunate and he’ll keep you for himself for a long time before sharing you with his men. Maybe you’ll even come to like opening your legs for the crew, eh? That red-haired English
puta
liked it.” Rosalina threw back her head and burst out laughing. “You English are a crazy people,” she observed and shut the door behind her.

Once more, the bar slipped into place.

Marlee’s fingers clutched the table leg, holding on in abject fear and misery. A short time ago everything had been wonderful, her future with Lark gleamed bright as gold. Now, darkness claimed her soul.

“Lark, Lark,” she mouthed his name over and over again, offering a silent prayer that he’d find her soon and deliver her from this pit of hell and the devilish Manuel Silva.

~ ~ ~

“Sir, the storm has ended,” Lieutenant Monroe, one of the English navy’s finest young officers, reported to Lark. “Holcombe requests you go above deck. He believes he’s sighted the frigate,
Morning Star
, and her companion vessel.”

Glancing up from the maps he perused, Lark nodded and took a small swig of whiskey to dull the ache in his shoulder. “Any sign of Silva yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Where can that blasted swine be!” Lark burst out, his frustration and fear showed in his weary, lined face. “We’ve been sailing for more than a day—and nothing. One would think that his majesty’s finest would be able to rout out the bastard before now.”

“The storm threw us off course for a while, sir,” Monroe defensively explained, “but now that the frigate is in view, Silva can’t be far behind.”

Lark stood up from behind the table and grabbed his saber, tying it to the loop on his waistband. Then he opened the sea chest and took out a pistol. “I wonder which way that bastard prefers to die,” he said, referring to Silva in a chilling voice. “Pass the word to the men that if Silva is captured, he is to be brought to me—and only to me.”

“I doubt the admiralty will approve, sir.”

“Damn the admiralty! This is my ship and I’m in charge.”

Lieutenant Monroe saluted but appeared a bit stunned by Lark’s outburst. “Yes, sir!”

“You may go,” Lark said. Monroe hurriedly left the cabin.

The man most probably thought he was demented, and maybe he was right, Lark decided when he caught sight of his reflection in the wall mirror. His unshaven face stared back at him from dark-circled eyes. He hadn’t combed his hair in days; in fact, he hadn’t slept in days, either—not since Marlee had been kidnapped. The clothes he wore were clean at least, having changed after the stabbing, but they were rumpled. The stab wounds still pained him some but nothing hurt as much as the pernicious ache in his heart. Sometimes he wondered if he was already mad and didn’t know it.

Every moment of the day was passed in agony. When Bettina had been taken, Lark hadn’t dwelled upon what might have happened to her. But now that Marlee was gone, he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what Silva might be doing to her. Was the bastard touching her, forcing himself upon her? He hated to think about Marlee in Silva’s bed, or being used by Silva’s men. The sordid images revolved in his mind like a windmill. To counteract the images, he began to concentrate on how he’d kill Manuel Silva with his bare hands and this is what saved him from insanity.

“Marlee, my sweet love, I’m coming for you,” he whispered and left the cabin to join the men on deck.

~ ~ ~

After a long, dreadful night of wind-tossed seas and violent rain, all was now calm. A timid sunbeam slid into Silva’s cabin to bathe the interior in a yellow glow. Marlee laid on the velvet-cushioned window seat which allowed a sweeping view of the ocean and sky. But she wasn’t concerned with the view, instead she’d placed her arm over her eyes to block out the light. Her head hurt, and her stomach felt as if she’d heaved up the sea, having spent hours during the storm bent over the chamber pot. Never had she been so ill, not even on Lark’s ship where she’d spent weeks. She wished to die.

But death didn’t come. Manuel Silva did.

She was too ill even to steal a glance when she heard the bar being lifted, the creak of the door opening and closing. But she knew Manuel was in the room, she sensed him watching her and shivered beneath the blanket.

“Rosalina told me you were sick,” he said with a heavy dose of annoyance in his voice. “Don’t attempt to fake illness, Marlee. I realize you’re playing a game with me.”

She slowly removed her arm so he could see the pallor of her complexion, the blue eyes which stared dully at him. “Do I look like I’m playing a game?” she asked weakly, dismayed to discover that he hovered over her like a vulture.

“
Madre de Dios
, you look wretched!”

“Thank you—so much.”

Silva sighed raggedly, disturbed and frustrated by Marlee’s condition. He’d been on deck for hours, fighting the storm, keeping his men under control. All he wanted was to return to his cabin and possess the English beauty who had captured his heart—if it could be said that Manuel Silva had a heart, and many people believed he didn’t. But he did have one. He felt pain and love as much as any man, lust, too, and that was the main reason he’d wanted Marlee in the beginning. Her delicate loveliness overpowered him, and he wasn’t used to being denied anything he wanted, much less endure being scorned by a woman.

This woman had scorned him and hurt his pride. Even now, lying sick and weak before him, she scorned him. Where was the justice? He’d offered her marriage and would be a good father to the children she’d bear. Instead, she’d turned loathsome eyes upon him, cringing each time he touched her. Didn’t she realize that he loved her? What more could he do to make her want him?

Her escape with Lark Arden had stung and humiliated him. Never would he forget the way he’d searched frantically for her at the ball when she didn’t return with Doña Carlotta. But Doña Carlotta was gone, too, and he’d never seen her again. It was hours later, after he’d suffered the humiliation of Marlee’s abandonment in front of the governor and his friends, that he learned two ships had been spotted in Matanzas Bay. One belonged to Sloane Mason and the other to Lark Arden, his enemy. His anger knew no bounds.

A part of him was now pleased to see Marlee in physical distress, feeling that she deserved to suffer for what she’d done to him. Yet he wanted her well again very soon. His loins ached to possess her and make her truly his. Somehow he’d have to free her of Arden’s memory. His only alternative was to hunt down the English dog in the same way Arden had hunted him and to finally kill the bastard. Such a black thought immediately lightened Silva’s disposition.

“You know, I could take you here and now. You’d be much too weak to fight me off.” Silva didn’t intend to touch her while she was ill, but he was unwilling to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was safe from him for the moment.

A wave of fear flashed across her face only for an instant, but she bravely hid her terror behind a forced smile. “Yes, I suppose—you could. But if I’m not suffering from seasickness, you might catch whatever ails me. Then you’d be the one retching into the chamber pot all night. Not a—pretty picture, is it?”

Damn! he cursed under his breath. The wily wench had turned the tables on him, causing him again to look and feel foolish. “I’ll send Rosalina to tend to you,” he muttered and scowled blackly. “But I warn you that soon I’ll have my way with you, whether it’s here or in Saint Augustine.”

“Lark will hunt you down like the swine you are,” she hissed.

“No, I shall hunt him instead. Time and cunning are on my side. No one has ever outwitted me. No one ever shall. Rest and regain your strength, Marlee. I think I’ll go on deck and search for Arden’s ship, and when I find it, I shall dispose of it and Arden.”

She stared at him in haughty disdain until her glower forced him to turn and leave.

~ ~ ~

“Captain Silva, there’s the English frigate and her companion vessel.” Renaldo gazed through the spyglass and pointed to two dark specks on the distant horizon.

“Let me see.” Manuel took the spyglass and smiled at what he saw. He stroked his short beard. “
Bueno
. There shouldn’t be a problem taking both ships. Diego is captaining the sloop and will back us up. Renaldo, order the square sails opened, the cannons readied for firing. This shall be an easy victory.” Manuel was certain the frigate would fall without too much trouble. The ship was large but slow moving. He determined that the other ship wasn’t as big as the frigate but moved at the same speed. His own brigantine was quick and sturdy as a workhorse, never failing him in a battle; the sloop that traveled alongside was smaller but equally as swift—a perfect escape vessel if the brigantine was incapacitated.