Captive Embraces (45 page)

A growing sinking feeling crept through Regan. Stephan was a master of fencing. His reputation was known far and wide. Sirena had grown weak being out of practice. Stephan had the advantage. Sirena! Sirena! his mind cried. Anger and vengeance filled his chest and constricted his heart. He would kill Stephan with his own bare hands if Langdon had harmed one hair on Sirena's head! The thought of Sirena inert, slain, brought shudders up his spine.

Through one room and into another, Regan searched. Hoping, yet dreading to find Sirena. At last he came upon her bedroom and his eyes fell on the tattered nightdress and negligée tossed carelessly on the floor. Relief flooded him. From the condition of the nightdress he knew Sirena had been wearing it when she faced off Stephan. If Stephan had killed her he wouldn't have removed her clothes and left them here on the floor as evidence. No, his mind raced. He broke into a smile. It was the other way around after all. Sirena had killed Stephan.

Killed him and ran. But where was the body? He looked blankly at the nail still in his palm. This piece of evidence was undoubtedly linked to the missing corpse. Sirena must be riding out to sea already.

He should have known better. What a fool he had been to think for one moment that Stephan had slain Sirena. Sirena would always live to fight another day. Sirena would always survive, with Regan or without him. The thought gnawed at him and caused him pain.

Regan descended the steps slowly, coming to stand next to the gambler who waited outside the door. “He's gone. There isn't anyone in the house except a cook and a servant. Check for yourself.”

“I saw no one leave this house except two women, a child, a young man, and a bandy-legged coachman. I know what Langdon looks like and he wasn't with them,” the gambler said.

“Look for yourself and if you find him, fetch me at my office. I need some sleep, so if you'll excuse me.”

“He won't get away with this. He's hiding, the coward. I'll find him,” the man threatened.

“You do that,” Regan answered coldly, turning up his collar against the damp morning air and turning his back on the house on King Street. If he didn't miss his guess, a storm was brewing and London would feel the force of it before noon. Just the kind of weather Sirena loved, reveled in. It occurred to Regan that Sirena didn't need to wait for storms to happen; she created them for herself.

The copper-bottomed
Sea Spirit
sliced through the churning swells as if bound for hell. Sirena stood near the bow, her feet firmly planted against the heaving deck. Soon, she would take the wheel and command her ship.

Her eyes flicked sideways to the barrel lashed to the foremast. In a short while it would be time to hoist it overboard. Stephan deserved no more than that. He was scum, a scourge against humanity. She didn't regret that he was dead; she only regretted she had been the one to kill him. At one time she had sworn that she would never take another life and she had reneged on that promise. There was no recourse open to her except to live with it just as she had learned to live with the other tribulations of her life.

Her emerald eyes searched the open waters for a sign of another vessel. The horizon was clear; no mastheads jutted sharply from the faraway line where sea met sky. A squall was heading in on the Sea Spirit from the northeast and would engulf them within the hour. Time enough for her to take the wheel. At the proper moment Jacobus would drill holes in the sides of the wooden stave barrel and it would be tossed into the sea. No prayers would be said for this burial.

The wind began to lift, billowing the canvas and lifting Sirena's long, dark hair and whipping it about her face. The squall had moved in quicker than she expected and she heard Jan issuing orders for all unneeded hands to go below decks. Sirena waited, feeling her spirits lift along with the bowsprit, loving the salt tang on her face, exhilarated by the force of the elements.

Taking her place at the wheel, the wind howled in the rigging as she steered the
Sea Spirit
under her close-reefed sails.

Gigantic swells, whipped into curly white combers by the gale, rolled in continuously from the north. Spindrift flew in flakes stinging her face as she fought the wheel.

The holocaust demanded her full attention. Hands gripping the slick, stout steering mechanism, which was nearly as tall as she, Sirena stood erect, and brazened nature. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark, spectral clouds scudding across the sky. Rain had not yet begun to pelt the decks, but it was out there, waiting. Making ready for the onslaught, she lashed herself to the wheel.

Minutes seemed hours and hours eternities. The storm raged in full fury. Sirena was blinded by the savage downpour, but she kept the ship true to its heading. Her body was battered by the elements; her hair beat against her face and twisted about her neck like insistent, strangling fingers. When physical strength began to fail, an iron determination to survive became her mainstay. Nothing could stop her. Not Stephan's death, not Regan's rejection, not Caleb's siding with his father against her. Nothing. She would survive by her own wits and determination just as she had always done.

Tyler Sinclair fought his way across the deck with Willem. Their hands grasped lines and rigging as they struggled against the wind. Gaining the bow, they flanked the barrel, Stephan Langdon's cylindrical coffin, and struggled to tip it on its side. For a moment the vessel got away from them and Tyler imagined Stephan's body pushing out against the wooden staves and escaping the container. A horrific vision flashed through his mind as brightly and as instantly as the sudden lightning. He could almost see the body sliding on the decks, propelled by the wind and rain; almost giving it life. Gasping, taking in a mouthful of rain, Tyler choked, and grasped the barrel more firmly. Stephan Langdon would not haunt this ship! Not if he, Tyler, had to drown to make certain of it.

Willem grunted from the weight, his body fighting the strain and the elements. Turn by turn, they rolled the barrel to the rail, cursing the weather and their own clumsiness. Soaked through to the skin, the deluge plastering their hair to their heads in dark slabs, they hefted one side of the cask and tipped it upright. Without a final prayer or ceremony, the barrel went over the side and Stephan Langdon rested in the watery depths amid the crashing waves and the thundering sky. Ominous and deadly were the elements and a fitting graveyard for one who had been both. Sirena shouted for Tyler to go below; the deck of the
Sea Spirit
in a storm was no place for a landlubber.

The ship heaved with the force of the swells, the masts groaned with the weight of the saturated rigging. Rhythmically, the
Sea Spirit
rose and fell as she rode the turbulent waves. Sirena guided the vessel from the trough to the crest of each swell. For moments she would balance dizzily on the crest, then plunge steeply into the next trough. Each time she rode up onto the next crest, she became buoyant and invincible.

 

The weather held as the
Sea Spirit
and the crew made headway into Waterford's port. Under Frau Holtz's protests about being halfway around the world in Java, Sirena consented that she and Wren should return to Cádiz and set up residence in the Valdez house on Via Arpa.

Preparations were underway, packing, letter-writing and instructions that Frau Holtz should contact Señor Arroya immediately upon arriving. The Frau and Wren might have several weeks' delay in booking passage on a ship bound for Cádiz so plans were made for Tyler to go to Waterford with the Frau and Wren and visit several acquaintances he had there. He was certain they would see to their welfare until passage could be secured to Cádiz.

Tears glistened in the elderly woman's eyes as she descended the ladder to solid ground on Waterford's wharf. Wren threw her arms around Sirena, stifling the sobs which choked her. Sirena forced herself to remain composed and quickly kissed the young girl on the cheek with the promise to see her soon.

“Mevrouw,” Frau Holtz called from quayside, “when will we see you in Cádiz?” When Sirena did not reply, the housekeeper reached put an arm in entreaty. The iron-gray head shook as she read the expression in Sirena's eyes. The Frau said nothing, turning with Wren and following Tyler to the harbor master's office.

Sadness pricked Sirena's sea-green eyes. You know me too well, Frau Holtz, she cried silently. Thank you for turning away. If you hadn't, I would have leaped over the rail after you.
Vaya con Dios,
good friend.

She started for her cabin, barking several orders at her crew to lay in stores and fresh water. They would sail out on the evening tide. The crew hastened to do her bidding. To a man, they agreed the only thing in this world they could not stand was to see tears in their Capitana's eyes.

Shortly before sundown, Sirena awoke from her brief nap. She ate sparingly of the food Jacobus set before her and then went out on deck. Tyler was just returning from the city.

When he climbed aboard, he went directly to Sirena, answering her unspoken question. “The Frau and Wren have been settled in with friends of my family. They're delighted to have them. It's been some while since they had a child to pamper. There's a ship leaving for Cádiz within the week, but I preferred them to sail on the packet leaving ten days from now. I thought you would want them to be among missionaries going to Africa, rather than take a chance on their traveling with a motley crew of mercenaries.”

“Thank you, Tyler, it is exactly as I would wish.” Her voice was low and husky. “We sail on the evening tide. Three hours should see us out of Irish waters.”

It would be none too soon for Tyler, who remembered, even if Sirena did not, that English law reigned supreme here in Ireland and they would be just as subject to English justice as they would have been in London.

Shortly before nine o'clock the
Sea Spirit
slid out of her berth. The sea was calm and the fugitives followed the path of the Moon.

Late that night Tyler came on deck and, to his surprise, found Sirena leaning over the stern, watching the wake created by the ship's rudder. He had been hoping for an opportunity to talk with her and was glad to find her alone.

“Sirena,” he called softly, interrupting her thoughts. She turned to face him, and from the glint in her eyes he could see she had been weeping.

“What is it, Tyler? It's very late, I thought you would be bunked down.”

“I wanted to discuss that little arrangement we made. I've decided it was unfair of me to ask you to embark on a career of piracy. I've changed my mind; I don't think I could go through with it. That last time, it wasn't our fault Regan's ship was sunk. We really did nothing more than salvage the cargo from going down with her.

Sirena smiled. “I thought you would see it that way, Tyler. In fact, I was certain you would.”

“Then we can go back and get Frau Holtz and little Wren!”

“No, Tyler, that is the one thing we cannot do. I don't want them associated with me until I know I am clear of what I did to Stephan. They're safer sailing to Cádiz without me. As for you, you can always go back to London after we reach Spain. Who knows, Tyler, luck may be with you and you will cross paths with pirates? They are one breed of fish I consider fair game. You may have your fortune yet.”

The
Sea Spirit
rode her southern course, and shortly before twilight a few days later, a cry was raised from the crew. “Sail ho!”

“Where away?” Sirena answered, rushing out onto the deck from her cabin near the stern.

“Breaking the horizon coming from the west,” came the reply.

“Keep to course, and as she runs in, tell me what flag she wears.”

As Sirena and the seamen kept their eyes peeled to the west, they cursed the darkness which was rapidly falling, obscuring the arrival except for its outline against the blackening sky.

“Man the guns,” Sirena said softly, “I don't like the looks of her. Let her pass unmolested, but ready yourselves.”

As Tyler peered, his eyes focused on a pinpoint of light coming from the bow lantern of the distant ship. He was apprehensive. Sirena had warned that pirates and soldiers of fortune peppered the well-traveled shipping lanes, seeking easy victims. Jan had loaded the starboard gun and the wind blew a haze of powder Tyler's way, burning his eyes and stinging his nostrils.

Coughing and sputtering, he moved upwind of the gun and concentrated on the western horizon.

Sirena and her crew were tense. They, too, were aware that this spectral vessel could be manned by pirates. Silence fell over the crew and Jacobus made a last tour of the ship to be certain no lanterns were lit, giving away their positions.

The sky was totally black now. Just as the darkness shrouded the oncoming ship from the
Sea Spirit,
so was the sleek, copper-bottomed brig hidden from it.

They could feel the presence of the other ship even though they could not see it. Jacobus studied the sky, hoping for the stars to light the scene, yet dreading that they might, and reveal the
Sea Spirit
's position. Sirena changed course to southeasterly, hoping to outrun the pursuer.

All eyes fastened to the west and, suddenly, they saw a flare not a quarter of a mile away. A lamp was being held aloft and circling to starboard. The mystery ship had found the winds to her advantage and had gained on the
Sea Spirit
more quickly than they could have imagined. The ship was so close that Sirena could almost make out the features of the seaman who signaled with the lamp.

“They signal to heel to starboard!” she said incredulously. “They expect us to give up without a fight!”

Just as she uttered the words, the mystery ship's port gun fired, blazing red and fiery gold. “She attacks us! Jan! Fire the starboard gun!”

Feeling his way to light the fuse, Jan struck the flint and kept his eyes directed away from the flare to keep from losing his night vision. He found the fuse and lit it, the small red glow travelling up the wire. The
Sea Spirit
rocked from the recoil of the cannon. Quicker than the eye could follow, the ball shot, shuddering the opposing vessel's hull and splitting her timbers on the port side.

Feverishly, Jan reloaded with Jacobus' help; the cannon was ready to fire again within moments.

“Fire!” Sirena commanded, not wanting to lose the advantage. A deafening roar ripped through the night and an inky black smoke billowed upward.

“Dead on its mark,” Willem called direly.

The other ship, which was now identifiable as a galleon, limped to starboard, away from the
Sea Spirit.

“They run like mice!” Jan cheered, his voice shrill with excitement. Suddenly, he ran down the deck to the wheel to Sirena. “Capitana ... the ship...”

“It was a good shot, Jan, you have a keen eye.”

“Look,” Jan said, pointing his long arm at the floundering galleon. “Look at her flag!”

Sirena studied the foremast, now illuminated by the flames shooting from her deck. The flag of England! And flying just below it was the Monarch's crown. The King's ship!

“Capitana, we attacked the King's galleon. We'll have to make a run for it!”

“Too late,” Willem cried. “Look who's coming up behind her!” he shouted incredulously.

“Merciful God!” Sirena cried. “We can't outrun two; they'll hem us in.”

Tyler groaned aloud as he brought his hands up to his head. The enormity of the situation hit him and he thought he would retch.

Sirena had no time for Tyler now. She pushed him out of her way and stepped closer to the rail for a better look. “The galleon is floundering, but she can be shorted up. She's hit well above the water line.”

“She wasn't signaling to
us
to heel to starboard,” Jan said, “she was signaling to her escort. She probably didn't even see us when she fired her gun.”

“Capitana,” Willem directed, “go to your cabin and change your clothes. We don't need more trouble than we can handle. Hurry!” he instructed hoarsely.