Captive Embraces (11 page)

Frau Holtz stood concealed near the door which she had quietly opened. For the first time in her long life, murder was in her heart. If possible, she would wield the weapon herself. The Mynheer must have taken lessons from the Devil himself.

The housekeeper gathered the anguished Sirena in her thick arms, soothing her with gentle pats and tender cluckings. All the while she muttered oaths and obscenities in German to which Sirena nodded her agreement, but punctuated with swelling sobs of: “I love him! I love him!”

“The only word which describes the
Spirit
is sleek,” Jan boasted proudly. “Even her name seems to fit her, Capitana.”

Sirena nodded, “It does have a nice sound, doesn't it?”

“Aye!” Jan agreed exuberantly. “The
Sea Spirit
rolls off the tongue and doesn't get caught in my teeth. She's long and smooth, the way I like my women,” he laughed as he ushered her aboard.

“She has the
Rana
's lines.” She ran her hand along the quarterdeck rail and then nodded to her crew. The ship was completely acceptible to their Capitana. “A master of designs built this ship and we must do him proud.” Sirena assumed a regal stance as she issued her first order aboard the
Sea Spirit.
“Hoist the anchor to set sail. Willem, take the wheel, and Jan, see to the halyards. Jacobus, ready a meal fit for royalty. We dine at dusk.”

“Aye, Capitana,” they chorused. It was Jan who observed the Capitana closely. She wasn't fooling him for a moment. She still carried the same look as when she had boarded in Holland. Perhaps when they reached England, the haunted expression would cease.

The sailing was uneventful as far as Frau Holtz was concerned. All this fuss over a length of sail and planks of wood were beyond her ken. She didn't marvel at how easily this copper-bottom tub cut the water. She wasn't at all impressed with the well-hung rigging or the cut of the jib. True, the cabins were more spacious than aboard the
Rana,
and the fresh varnish and shining settings were easier on the eye of a scrupulous housekeeper. But she couldn't share Jacobus' enthusiasm for the superbly equipped galley because it wasn't
her
domain. Yet she did listen tolerantly to Jan's prideful boasts about the ship's responsiveness. It was Sirena who occupied the Frau's thoughts. The Mevrouw spent long hours alone in her cabin and Jan and Willem took their watches at the wheel. Jacobus spent long hours in the galley concocting what he hoped was tempting fare for the Capitana who, in turn, merely picked at the proffered food. All in all, it was not a happy voyage. The crew became subdued when Sirena strummed on her guitar on the moonlit deck and sang haunting love songs with a strained voice. At such times Frau Holtz wanted to wring Regan van der Rhys' bullish neck.

 

Two days out of the port of Cádiz, Sirena again had her sea legs. Looking toward the sky, she knew she was in for heavy weather. Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of a storm. This would be her chance to see what the
Sea Spirit
would do in a heavy gale. Already she could feel the approaching fog. Soon it would snake its way across the water and come to rest on the decks, wrapping itself around her legs and body like tentacles.

Sirena looked toward the sky again, willing the thoughts of Regan to flee her mind. She had to keep her mind on the
Sea Spirit
and her crew. Since she hit open water she had been plagued by a strong westerly wind. Her eyes were blank, almost unseeing as she watched the fog creep up on the
Sea Spirit.
She flinched when she saw that it was creeping around her boots and crawling up her thighs. A shudder ripped through her, demanding she pay attention to her position at the wheel.

“Sail ho!” came a shout from the rigging.

“What flag does she fly, Jan?”

“None that I can see, but she's tightened sail.”

“All hands to the deck! Four men to mount the shrouds, four men to the yardarms—they'll slice the rigging if she's bent on attacking us.”

“She's a clumsy ship, Capitana,” Jan called. “From the looks of her she won't heave to in a gale under a reefed main topsail and that's what we're going to have shortly. If she's bent on attacking us we have the advantage. Marauders, wild marauders,” he spat angrily.

A deafening crash sounded as a cannonball made contact with the
Sea Spirit,
splitting a-hole in the deck. The crew ran to check the rolling cannon. The crackling and rending of broken wood was deafening. “Bastard!” Sirena shouted hoarsely. “You'll pay for this.”

“Fire!” Sirena ordered. “I'll steer the
Spirit
directly astern at full speed and our ram will puncture the other ship's stern. Look lively now and tighten sail. We'll survive the damage to the deck, at best it was a lucky shot and one she won't repeat. Steady as she goes, the gale is whipping up. She can't tack. Fire!” Sirena commanded again.

As the cannonballs found their mark a large cloud of thick black smoke whipped upward, followed by a deafening screech of splitting timbers and decks as another missile found its mark. Sirena could see, even in the fog, that men toppled over the side as other seamen ran to check the sails.

Sirena shouted the order to take over the other vessel. “Quickly, she'll sink within minutes.”

“Lower the flag,” Jan yelled as one of the men swung out with his cutlass at an approaching seaman.

Sirena stood on the bow of the
Spirit
and watched as her men fought tooth and nail with the seamen who stayed on the marauding ship.

“Secure her,” she screamed to be heard above the sound of clanking metal and the snapping and crackling of the burning wood. With an agile move, she grasped the rope from one of the crew and leaped aboard the fast-sinking brig, her cutlass rattling on the deck as she landed.

“Who captains this ship?” she demanded arrogantly. “Answer me quickly and honestly or you'll see your tongue flop at your feet like a fish out of water.”

A tall and heavy man stood apart from the others. From his dress and cocked hat, Sirena knew he was the captain. They locked stares. Sirena's lip curled in distaste as she watched him sweat while his chest heaved, his thick lips trembling in fear.

“A small error on my part,” the captain said hoarsely. “Who are you?” he demanded as his beady eyes took in her scanty attire.

“The Virgin Mary,” Sirena said coolly. “What do you carry in your hold? No lies.”

“Crystal and silk. It's mine, I stole it fair and square,” he blustered.

“I can well believe you did. Now it belongs to me. Where you're going you'll have no need for the cargo. I, on the other hand, fancy I could use such articles. Quickly, Jan. It will bring a good price if we can manage to sell it someplace.”

“What about these scurves?” Willem called out.

“Toss them overboard and if you feel charitable, lower the jolly boats. If not, let them drown,” she said callously.

“All cargo aboard!”

“All hands back to our ship!” She jumped the widening gap between the two vessels with agility. “That's it, Jan, heave way from this scurvy brig! She'll not last long. Steer before the wind, quickly now!”

The
Spirit
now on a westward course, Sirena stood at the bow, one hand on the cutlass, measuring the sea. The churned-up waves beat furiously against the ship. It would still be a fight to best the wind and she might have to veer off the south or north until the gale changed somewhat.

What seemed like hours later, Sirena shouted happily, “The worst is over, calm waters ahead.” Jan looked at Willem with a smirk on his face. “The Capitana hasn't lost her touch; her expertise is as great as ever.”

“Aye,” Willem agreed. “For now we must see to repairing and shoring up the
Spirit.
The booty will bring a grand price in London. Not that we have need of money, but it is nice to know that it rests in one's sock should the occasion ever arise for a quick buy.”

“Well done, men,” Sirena called. “You haven't lost your touch in the heat of battle.”

Jan studied her carefully. She might be wearing a smile but it never reached her eyes like in the old days. He shifted uncomfortably, first on one foot and then the other. Time. Time was the answer to all things. There would be a day when the sparkle returned and the glow would be back. For now they would wait and watch and help when they could.

The
Sea Spirit
glided into harbor on a depressing, rainy day in early February. Ice floes were choking the Thames and churned beneath the vessel's bow. A dense fog was settling over the wharf as Sirena and Frau Holtz retired to the captain's quarters to prepare for their excursion into the heart of London. The first order of the day was to go to the offices of Tyler Payne Sinclair, Esquire, and the second was to make inquiries concerning Regan. After that, Sirena would locate Caleb to see how he was faring, if he was still in port.

 

The moment Sirena was docking in London, Caleb van der Rhys was striding through the doors of the Owl and Boar taproom to meet with his father.

The air of the cavernous room was hazy with tobacco smoke. The sound of sizzling grease could be heard coming from the open hearth where a haunch of pork was slowly turning on a spit. The stale odor of ale and the damp sawdust strewn about the floor assailed his nostrils, as he peered into the gloom searching for Regan. Caleb sighted him some moments later in the shadow recesses of the room. He was having a conversation with an elegantly clad gentleman who was obviously of the aristocracy. Both were guzzling ale and wore serious frowns.

Caleb strode the length of the floor, his lithe figure weaving between the milling patrons being catered to by lusty serving wenches. He was so intent upon reaching his father he failed to see the admiring glances of the bawds and the open speculation of the men who sipped their ale.

Caleb swung a lean, muscular leg over the rough plank bench and seated himself. He offered no greeting but signaled to the serving maid for a drink. His eyes were darkly hostile. The aristocrat interpreted the look and excused himself from their company. It was Regan who spoke first. “How did you find me?” he asked bruskly.

“It wasn't difficult,” his son replied coolly. “I've been in England for several days. I noticed your offices near the docks and assumed you frequented one of the taprooms nearby. I thought it better you learn about my presence here in England from me rather than from someone else. I plan to stay, at least for a while. Ultimately, I intended to take advantage of the new shipping outlets in the colonies. For now, I'll feel my oats and see if I'm capable of making a living on my own.”

Regan's face was forbidding. Caleb's casual manner irritated him, and he still remembered their last meeting at the academy in Holland. “I'm afraid you've come at a bad time,” he said harshly. “My money is tied up and there's not much left for further investments. After our last meeting I didn't expect to see you again, least of all in London,” he added bitterly.

Caleb's mouth was compressed into a thin, tight line. “I didn't come here for money or for your help. I came looking for you as a son to his father. I ask for nothing; I want nothing from you.”

Regan's expression remained unchanged as he measured his son—filled with a hostility as consuming as his own. How was he to reach him? What could he say? Should he offer to take him into his small, fledgling business? Would Caleb reject his offer? In a tight, constrained voice Regan asked, “What ship did you sail from Holland?”

“In a manner of speaking, you might say I worked my way to Spain and from there I sailed my own frigate to England.” Regan's smoldering blue eyes questioned the statement but he said nothing. “Sirena came to the academy to see what I knew of your whereabouts. She was frantic that you had gone under with the
Spanish Lady
off the coast of Spain. When she learned that you were hale and hearty, her relief was heartbreaking, considering what further information I had to offer. You see, Sirena knew nothing of the divorce until I was forced to tell her.” Caleb's eyes met Regan's, the air between them charged with smoldering rage. “Because of the effect my news had on her, I was released two weeks early from my studies and sailed with her to Spain. In Cádiz she turned the
Rana
over to me as she had promised long ago. Having nothing else to give me, she gave me the Córdez jewels. Before I turned them into gold I wanted to hear from your own lips that you ...” Caleb hesitated, hoping Regan would give some sign that his feelings for Sirena had altered. That he didn't want to honor the divorce, that he still cared for her and what happened to her.

“Spit it out, say it, don't talk around it,” Regan ordered, his voice level and impersonal.

“You've taken everything else she had, why not the gems?” He hadn't meant to say it that way. He hadn't meant to be so cruel. But Regan's manner incited him to cruelty. He wanted to see Regan as helpless and as crushed as Sirena was.

“If Sirena gave them to you, then they are yours,” Regan growled through clenched teeth. Just her name, just hearing Caleb say she was as near as Spain sent shock waves through his body, almost choking the breath from him. Had she come for him after all this time? He controlled his face so that it became impassive, and waited for Caleb's next words.

Regan had finished his ale and was well into another and still his son had said nothing. Unable to keep himself under control, Regan started to rise from the table when Caleb motioned for him to sit down. “Very well, Father. I see that you're not going to ask, so I'll tell you about her anyway. I owe you that much and I'm certain Sirena wouldn't mind. First, however, I want it understood that I'll not be a go-between. As to facts, she seems to be handling matters. She is aware that you have seized her fortune. I would have stayed with her, worked my fingers to the bone if necessary, but she wouldn't have it. The truth of the matter is, Father,” Caleb used the address cynically, “Sirena can't stand the sight of me. I remind her too much of you. In time this will change; I must believe this; but for now, I can't bear to watch her suffer. I love Sirena, and you have taken her away from me.”