Pirate Wolf Trilogy (37 page)

“I cannot very
well ask her myself. She melts into a frightened puddle if I so
much as inquire after her health.”

“I was
imagining that was the kind of reaction you preferred from your
women. Docile, fainthearted, demurring to your every command….”

He glared at
her. “If it was, I wouldn’t be taking you into my bed every night,
now would I?”

Beau returned
his stare for a long moment, then pushed away from the rail with a
curse. She gained no more than a pace or two before Dante’s arm
snaked out and caught her around the waist, hauling her back.

“Let me go, you
insufferably arrogant—”

He kissed
her hard, on the mouth, and when he did let her go, he was
grinning. “You’re like a keg of powder, did you know that? The
smallest spark touches your fuse and
blam!
Off you go.”

She wriggled
and squirmed and tried to wrench herself free, but he only
tightened his grip and trapped her closer against his chest.

“If you truly
want me to explode, Captain—”

He
laughed again and lifted her, wary of the eyes that might be
watching from the
Elizabeth Bonaventure.
He carried her, still thrashing and spitting like a cat,
into the cabin and closed the gallery door behind them. Turning her
into the corner, he kept her pinned there with his big body even as
he freed his hands to cradle her neck and tilt her mouth up to
his.

She tried
to bite him and he bit her back. Her gasp allowed his tongue to
make short work of her defenses and within a few half-heartedly
angry protests, she was all but a puddle herself.

“Bastard,” she
gasped when she could. “You don’t play fair.”

“With you?
God’s truth, I would not stand a chance. You would have me
castrated, and without the use of a knife.”

She opened her
mouth to the rovings of his tongue and lips, and curled her arms
around his shoulders.

“Besides,” he
said between suckling caresses, “I need to talk to you and I need
your full attention.”

“You have it,”
she murmured. “Talk away.”

“I plan to go
on the raid to Cadiz with Drake. He will likely ask me anyway, if I
have not put his nose too far out of joint, but even if he doesn’t,
I’m sure I can catch a ride with someone.”

Beau’s eyes
opened and her mouth stopped moving against his. His dark head
lifted, though he was careful to keep her body immobilized against
the wall.

“
What
about the
Egret
?”

“What about
her? She is going home … and so are you.”

“Thank you very
much for the dismissal, but I don’t recall you being named
captain.”

“
I don’t
have to be; all I need are eyes. You’re carrying several tons of
bullion—rather expensive ballast to toss overboard should the need
arise. Your speed and maneuverability are hampered and your rudder
is not as sound as it should be. You are a week, give or take, from
port; your men are tired and anxious to see their families or spend
their money. They have already gone through one unnecessary ordeal
and survived as much through luck as anything else. It would not be
fair to throw them into another conflict not of their choosing, not
of their nature. You said yourself, the
Egret
is a merchantman, not a warship, and brave though
her captain and crew might be—
all
of
her crew,” he repeated emphatically, “Cadiz is no place for her to
be. It is no place for you to be either. This is war, despite what
Drake or the Queen prefers to call it, and I want you safe,
Isabeau. I want you home in England, safe.”

Her eyes, huge
and tawny and glistening like pools of liquid gold, looked up at
him without an accompanying word, and he cursed, low and soft in
his throat.

“Drake would
never let you come along, regardless. You heard him: he handpicked
his captains and his ships. They are the fastest, the sleekest, the
ones with the most firepower, and in prime fighting condition.”

“
Not all
of them. There is at least one in as rough shape as the
Egret
, possibly
even worse.”

“Isabeau—”

“There is!” She
pushed him away and wrenched open the gallery door. He cursed
again, but obeyed her command to go out onto the balcony and, once
there, to follow the outthrust point of her finger.

At first
he did not see it, for there were ten or more galleons drifting in
to take a position near the
Elizabeth Bonaventure.
But then a silhouette, etched into his brain like
a burning brand, drew his eye and held it; held it until his lids
burned and the hatred rose like acid in his blood.

It was
Victor Bloodstone’s ship. It was the
Talon.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

Beau’s jaw
gaped as she heard him hiss the name. His body had gone rigid and
the vast bulk of muscle across his chest and arms had turned as
hard as stone. She knew this because her first reaction was to
reach out and touch him.

“Are you
absolutely certain? How could he have made the turnaround so
quickly?”

“
He could
have. The greedy bastard would not miss an opportunity like this.
And, yes, I am absolutely certain it is the
Talon.
I would not mistake that hull over a thousand
others just like it.”

“She stands a
thousand yards away,” Beau argued.

“She could
stand two thousand. Three. I would know her guns anywhere.”

Beau
traced the glint of sunlight across the wide expanse of water and
caught the metallic reflection off bronze muzzles. She recalled
something Pitt had mentioned during an evening discussion: that he
had fitted Victor Bloodstone’s ship with some of the same
demi-cannon he had commissioned from Marseilles specially for
the
Virago.
She
herself had remarked at their uniqueness, with the elegantly long
snouts scrolled and embellished with gilded eagles in full
wingspread.

“It does not
mean Victor Bloodstone is at the helm,” she said lamely.

“
He is
there. I can
feel
him.”

Dante’s eyes
were a raw, angry blue, his face was a chiseled mask of rage, the
squared edge of his jaw so prominent, Beau could have drawn a line
by it.

“What are you
going to do?” she asked in a whisper.

“What would you
suggest I do? Invite him to share a tot of rum?”

“No, of course
not, but—”

“
But
what?”
The
blazing blue eyes speared her. “What, Isabeau? Tell me what! You
don’t think he deserves to die? You don’t think he deserves to be
lashed to the shrouds and run through by every man on my crew? He
ran, God damn his soul. He turned and ran like a greedy, sneaking
thief in the night. He stole our food, our water, our gold, then
left us to the zabras to cover his crime. Killing is too good for
him. He deserves to be slashed open and his wounds packed with salt
until he screams himself to an agony of madness.”

“He appears to
have told a different version of what happened. According to
Carleill—”

“According to
Carleill, he made me out to be a martyr, sacrificing my ship and
crew for the sake of his scrawny neck.”

“And indeed,
Captain Dante, who would believe that?” His eyes narrowed
dangerously, but she kept going. “Who would believe you would throw
yourself in front of another ship to help buy time for a wounded
comrade to make good his escape? Having seen you in battle, I
would. Jonas would. Every man on board this ship would.”

“You have a
point to make?”

“My point,” she
said carefully, “is that Bloodstone has friends. Important friends,
some of whom are probably here, sailing beside him. What is more,
he has made you out to be the hero of the day, saving him and his
crew from certain death.”

“A brief
reprieve, I promise you.”

“I have no
doubt you want to kill him—”

“With my bare
hands,” he interrupted with quiet ferocity.

“—but do you
really think Sir Francis will allow it?”

“He will have
little to say about it; this is between Bloodstone and me.”

Beau bit down
on her lip and looked hesitantly at the fleet of galleons, huge
deadly warships bristling with purpose, entrusted with safeguarding
England’s future. Having met Drake, having seen the hunger in his
eyes, the ambition, and the lust for power, she was not entirely
convinced he would simply stand aside and let the personal
grievances of two men divide his forces and jeopardize his
mission.

“
Why do
you suppose he did not tell you Bloodstone and the
Talon
were here? He had ample
opportunity to mention it.”

“
Maybe
he
wants
me to kill
the bastard.”

“Maybe he does.
Maybe he knows your temper well enough to predict you would run
Bloodstone through the instant you set eyes on him, without
troubling with explanations, without seeking the benefit of a jury.
Maybe he would just let you kill him so he could be justified in
throwing you in chains and hauling you back to England on a charge
of cold-blooded murder.”

“Why in
damnation would he do that?”

“To take full
credit for Cadiz?” she suggested quietly.

Dante stared at
her for a long, disbelieving moment before he exploded. “He is Sir
Francis Drake! He does not have to resort to throwing me in chains
to protect his reputation!”

“
Did you
not see the look on his face when you told him about the San
Pedro de
Marcos?
Did you not hear
the way his teeth grated when he spoke of Vera Cruz? When was his
last victory against the Spanish? When did he last plunder a ship
or sack a city?
How many heroes can he afford to bring home to England if
he is to convince the Queen he is worthy of being Lord Admiral of
the Fleet?”

Dante’s
mouth snapped shut. His knuckles were bleached white where he
gripped the rail, rivaling the slash of his teeth as he drew his
lips back in a snarl. “Can these words be from the same mouth that
defended Drake as the greatest seaman and hero in the world, at the
same time comparing myself to a French bull rogue who could not
sail his way out of a gale?”

Her eyes
flashed hotly. “Must you remember
every
insult I threw at you?”

“You did not
mean them?”

“Of course I
meant them,” she snapped. “At the time, I meant every word.”

“Since then, of
course, we’ve had a few good tumbles in bed and you’ve come to
appreciate my finer points?”

Beau kept her
face remarkably blank, though she could feel it stinging as if he
had slapped her with the flat of his hand. She started to walk
away, back into the cabin, but his hand shot out and gripped her
tightly around the upper arm.

“Let me go,”
she said quietly.

“Isabeau—”

She looked him
square in the eye. “If you want to kill Victor Bloodstone, by all
means kill him; no one on this ship will stop you. Just promise me
you will think about what I said. Ask yourself why Drake said
nothing and if you still want to go and kill Victor Bloodstone, I
will row you across myself and hold him while you plunge the knife
in his heart.”

She wrenched
her arm out of his grasp and carried on through her cabin and out
to the companionway. She did not stop or look back, not even when
he cursed her on her way and sent his fist smashing into the
gallery door.

A dozen
feet away, on the other side of the narrow companionway, Geoffrey
Pitt’s fists were aching to smash something as well. He had come to
Doña Maria’s cabin after spending several minutes just standing
outside the door, wondering what his reaction was going to be if it
proved to be true that she was the wife of the Duke of Medina
Sidonia. Her value as a hostage would increase immeasurably. She
would be sent directly to London, where he would be lucky if he
caught a glimpse of her in a Tower window.

He had not
heard any sounds coming from inside the tiny cabin, not even after
he had braced himself and knocked. He had knocked a second time,
and when there was still no response, he had tested the latch and
pushed the door open an inch or two.

Both the
duchess and her duenna had been given strict instructions to remain
in their cabin and out of sight—for their own good, they had been
told, unless they wanted to find themselves in the hands of the
Dragon of the Apocalypse. Doña Maria had wilted at the very notion
of seeing Sir Francis Drake; Agnes Frosthip had vowed to confront
the English pirate and lay upon his head the blame for all the
evils of the world. To that end she had fortified herself with the
contents of a bottle of rum and, when Geoffrey Pitt eased open the
door of the cabin, was lying belly-down on the narrow cot, her arms
askew, her legs drooping over the side.

Doña Maria was
sitting in a straight back chair, her face as pale as candle wax,
her eyelids swollen and polished as if she had been crying through
most of the morning. She held a small crystal glass in her hand,
and as Pitt came all the way into the cabin, she drained the last
few drops of amber liquid and pushed shakily to her feet.

“
Have
they come for me, señor? The
soldados
who will arrest me and throw me in chains?”

“
There
are no
soldados.
No one
has come to arrest you.”