Captive Embraces (7 page)

From this level, Caleb could observe Sirena as she held her stance at the wheel. She was a magnificent seaman. The sea and the approaching storm would never beat her. There was a time when Caleb would have said that nothing in this world could best Sirena. But that had been before Mikel's death and this treachery of Regan's. Sirena had always said that no man would ever get the better of her. Regan divorcing her had proved how wrong she had been and now she would have to come to terms with it. In his heart, Caleb knew that she would never, could never, accept it. Without Regan, Sirena would be an empty shell. And what of Regan without Sirena? Was he whole? Would he find life to his liking without her? For one brief moment Caleb pitied Regan. Then, setting his jaw, he decided he would no longer take sides. They couldn't keep playing him like a string on a fiddle. Whatever they would do, they would do it without him!

Watching the nearing storm, Sirena picked up the horn near the wheel and shouted orders. “All hands to the deck to secure ship!”

The wind howled in the rigging as she steered the frigate under closely reefed sails. She kept her bow pointed into the wind as much as possible. Gigantic waves spun by the gale into curly, white combers rolled continuously from the west. Spindrift flew in flakes, stinging Sirena's face as she fought the wheel.

Nature's fury demanded her full attention. Hands gripping the wheel, all other thoughts fleeing her mind, she stood erect and brazened the onslaught. Lightning flashed, illuminating the horizon. Spectral clouds assumed violent shapes and scudded across the sky. Rain had not yet begun to pelt the decks, but it was out there waiting for her. Sirena knew the rain was her enemy, just as the fizzing sea foam whipped by the winds was, just as Regan was now her enemy. Rain could beat the strength out of a man, wearing and draining his vitality bit by bit, sip by sip, like a vampire draining life's blood. It could choke off a man's air by driving in solid sheets, whipping up the nostrils and down the throat. The rain could pound a helmsman from the wheel and the wind could lure a ship onto a certain course of destruction.

Fleetingly, her mind questioned one method of destruction versus another. Regan or the storm? Which was worse? For now, the storm, she answered herself. Fearing the worst, she lashed herself to the wheel with a length of narrow sailcloth.

The rains came and Sirena, blinded by the savage downpour, kept the
Rana
to its heading by instinct. Her body was battered by the elements and her hair came loose and beat against her face, twisting about her neck like insistent, strangling fingers. When physical strength began to fail, an iron will to survive became her mainstay. She must see Regan again. She must hear from his own lips that he no longer loved her. She must see his face, touch him. “Damn your soul to Hell, Regan van der Rhys!” Sirena screamed. “You're mine! Mine!” And her howl was matched by the furies of the storm.

The wind buffeted Caleb against the quarterdeck rail and only by taking a fast hold on the rigging was he able to pull himself across the deck to Sirena. “I came to help,” he shouted to be heard above the elements.

“I don't need your aid,” Sirena shouted, never taking her eyes from the sea swells.

“You're tiring. Let me take the wheel. This is no time for you to play
Conquistadora
. Now hand the wheel over to me! I'll get behind you and loosen your bindings. Get ready!”

“Get back to your post! An error on your part allowing her to lay broadside and broach will be the end of us! We cannot change positions now. Hear me well, Caleb! I captain this ship. When I have need of your assistance, I'll ask for it!” she shouted above the howling winds. “And,” she added ominously, “don't interfere in my affairs again!”

Caleb gave her a long, level look and made his way back to his former position. Tons of water suddenly crashed onto the frigate's decks, threatening to stave in her hatches. The massive onslaught of water crashed upon him just as he grasped the rigging.

Sirena called out, but was too late. She watched the water pick Caleb up and swoop him down the deck. She screamed but knew the sound did not reach the crew. “Please, God, let him be all right,” she prayed. “If it weren't for you, Regan, I wouldn't be here battling a storm with your son. If he drowns, it will be on your conscience, not mine!”

It was nearly an hour before Sirena ran the frigate before the wind to the northeast and into calm water. “Caleb . . . Caleb, where are you?”

“Up here, Sirena. Were you worried about me?” came a weak answer from the quarterdeck.

“Of course I was worried. I'm responsible for every man aboard my ship.”

“For a moment I hoped you were concerned for me personally,” Caleb retorted bitterly. Sirena offered no reply as she loosened the bindings which held her to the wheel.

“Now you can take over,” she said to Caleb, “until I get someone up here to take your place.” She watched as he made his way forward, his body drenched, his dark hair falling low on his forehead. How like Regan he looked. She stood a moment and watched as he planted his feet firmly. The hard, sinewy muscles in his arms bunched as he straightened his shoulders, grasping the wheel securely. He was as tall as Regan and almost as muscular. Sirena felt a lump rise in her throat as she watched him, his mouth grim, his dark eyes angry and smoldering.

Caleb noticed her walk away, no words spoken between them. Her shoulders slumped slightly and her arms hung limply at her sides. She stumbled once and rejected Willem's arm when he extended it. From his position, Caleb watched her bring the back of her hand to her eyes to wipe at her tears. He couldn't help her. Only Regan could do that and he was far away living a new life.

Frau Holtz clucked and crooned as she assisted Sirena in shedding her sodden clothing. The older woman wrapped a towel around her mistress' wet hair and made her comfortable on the hard, narrow bunk.

As if by magic, Jacobus appeared at the door with two steaming cups of coffee. “I laced them liberally with rum. The Capitana appears to need it. And,” he said grinning toothlessly, “this is a gift of love.” He handed the Frau the second mug. “The first of many,” he quipped as he backed hastily out of the doorway, reading the woman's intention of dashing the scalding brew at him.

Comfortable and dry, the hot mug in her hands, Sirena leaned back on the bunk, her long, tawny legs curled beneath her. “I see many questions in your face, Frau Holtz.”

“And I see strange things in your eyes, Mevrouw. If you need someone to talk to, I'll not ask any questions.”

Sirena sipped at the coffee and spoke carefully. She exerted great effort to keep her countenance blank and her eyes unreadable. This ache was solely hers and she did not need anyone to share the burden. “Regan went to Spain, secured my holdings, and then he set sail for Holland, where he divorced me. I no longer have my inheritance nor my husband. He plans to pension me off, using my money.”

“Mevrouw! What are you talking about?” Frau Holtz asked fearfully.

Suddenly all Sirena's control dissolved. “Didn't you hear me? Regan divorced me.”

“Bah! I will never believe that. He loves you like no man has loved a woman. Didn't he chase you halfway around the world to prove it to you?”

“That was a long time ago. This is the present!”

“Then why are we going to Spain? What are you going to do? It would seem to me that if the Mynheer is in Holland that's where we should have stayed.”

Sirena took another drink before replying, “At this moment I'm as near destitute as a person can be. I have nothing save this ship and my personal belongings. I must see my family's solicitor and guardian of the family's estates.”

“But, Mevrouw, you just told me the Mynheer has confiscated everything.”

Poor Frau Holtz. Sirena had never seen her so staggered with shock. Not even on the night when Mikel was born and she had had to relinquish Sirena's welfare to the wizened, black African midwife. “True, Frau. Regan has, by law, the right to my inheritance. But I am hoping that Tio Esteban will have kept my mother's fortunes intact. The law reads that Regan is entitled to the Córdez wealth, I'm hoping the Valdez fortunes from my mother's side of the family do not come under that requirement. Poor Tio Esteban, I can imagine his shock when Regan presented himself to claim my property.”

“Forgive me, Mevrouw, but are your holdings from the Valdez family as great as those your husband controls?”

“Dear lady, remember Regan is no longer my husband,” Sirena reminded bitterly. “And yes, the Valdez fortune is even greater than that of the Córdez. The reason it has remained intact was my father refused to accept one peseta of my mother's inheritance. He said he was a young man and capable of making a living and building his own fortunes.”

“What will you do?” the Frau asked, wringing her hands in sympathy. She knew the loss of the estates meant nothing to Sirena. It was the loss of Regan's love which could deal a lethal blow. “Will we stay in Spain? Have you given any thought to the future?”

“What future, old friend? Everything escapes me save for the fact that Regan has divorced me. I can't think beyond that point. When I speak with Tio Esteban, then I'll make my decisions. Have no fear, we won't make our home aboard ship. I know how you yearn for solid ground beneath your feet.”

“And Caleb? What of the young man? Where will he go, what will he do?”

Frau Holtz watched Sirena's green eyes cloud. “I'm certain Caleb will see to his own future. He claims to be a man, let him act like one.”

“He's a magnificent youth. A replica of his father.”

“Yes,” Sirena sighed. “He's seen the best and worst of his father and the best and worst of me. Let us hope he has learned wisely from his experiences with both of us.”

“He's gone further than that,” Frau Holtz said with a touch of awe, remembering her conversation with Caleb when he first boarded the
Rana
. “He's quite knowledgeable in book learning and he claims he is a master of fencing, having won many medals.”

“Has he now?” Sirena said with interest. “Perhaps we can have a small exhibition for the crew. I'd like to see for myself how much he has learned.”

“I have a feeling, Mevrouw, that you might be surprised at what the young man has learned. He's more confident than his father at the same age. I knew it was a mistake to send him to school. I told the Mynheer that it was a mistake. Did he listen to me? No. He said Caleb needed to be educated and the boy certainly is that.”

“Frau Holtz, with growth comes knowledge. We must accept the fact that Caleb is no longer a boy but a man. I know how your arms ache to hold a child,” Sirena's voice became softer, almost a whisper as she thought of little Mikel. “But for Caleb's sake, accept the fact that he's now a man,” she repeated, her voice again strong and confident.

“Somehow I could accept it more readily if he didn't act and look so like the Mynheer,” Frau Holtz said sourly, inadvertently reflecting Sirena's own feelings.

The journey from Holland to Spain was exquisite torture for Caleb. How long he had yearned for the feel of the deck beneath his feet while he had been at the academy. How he had dreamed of Sirena's beautiful face and coming beneath her loving gaze. And for the sight of his father, too, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Now, everything was in turmoil thanks to Regan's doing.

Day after day Caleb watched Sirena as she stood at the wheel, her hands tightly clutching it. Her green eyes held smoldering fires, her face was a frozen mask of fury. Although she spoke quietly, there was a cold ring of steel in her voice. No one questioned her or gave her cause for anger. Even Frau Holtz kept her distance and remained silent.

What would Regan do when he came face to face with Sirena? Caleb imagined the duel. There was no question in his mind it would come to a duel, that the two of them would pace off and attack. In Caleb's imagination, the sound of the hasps as the hatch was lifted became the sound of rapier against rapier as Regan and Sirena fought once again. God, no, he muttered to himself. He never again wanted to see his father and Sirena square off against one another. Regan would kill her this time. Motherhood and grief would have taken their toll on the long-legged creature who now stood at the helm. She would not be a match for the dynamic Regan van der Rhys.

A land bird flew close to the swiftly moving
Rana
. Soon, thought Caleb, soon they would sight Spain and make the port of Cádiz. Then Sirena's real troubles would begin. She wouldn't be able to tire herself with exhausting hours at the frigate's wheel so when she did finally lie down in her bunk, a heavy sleep could be her escape. He, also, would be forced to face much unpleasantness. He could feel it in his bones. What would Regan's reaction be when he discovered that he was with Sirena? Would he feel betrayed and enraged or would he be secretly relieved that Caleb could look after his ex-wife. Ex-wife? Caleb felt the need to spit even as he thought the word. He tossed his dark head and knew he didn't care what Regan thought. Not now, not tomorrow, nor the day after tomorrow.

“Caleb, take over,” Sirena called.

Caleb hastened to do her bidding, glad to free his mind of his tormenting thoughts.

“Within the week, barring bad weather, we should sight Spain. Home,” she said with a wistful note. “My birthplace, Caleb.” Abruptly, Sirena snapped herself from her melancholia. “Three hours at the wheel and then have Franco relieve you. We'll have a fencing lesson after our meal? What do you think?”

Caleb's heart leapt to his throat. Was she going to practice to prepare herself for meeting Regan? Caleb gulped but agreed to the match, hoping he would make a worthy show of himself. Although he had practiced the sport with the best masters Holland could offer, he knew that when Sirena was at her finest she could have easily taken any of his teachers. Still, the fear kept niggling at him that Sirena was not as quick as she had once been and that she would make an easy target for Regan's onslaught if it were ever to come to a confrontation. His thoughts brightened as he remembered Sirena as she had once been. Fleet of foot, quick of reflex, feisty and daring, determined never to allow any man to put her at a disadvantage. She had been filled with torment and the need for vengeance just as she was now. He knew from experience the effect that emotional state had on her; it could give her impetus and heighten her reflexes and accentuate her expertise. He would have to bring into play everything he had ever learned in order to make a worthy opponent and not make a fool of himself.

Below deck Sirena unsheathed her rapier and looked at it for a moment. Slowly, she ran her fingers down the smooth shaft of steel and flexed the slender blade. Suddenly, she dug the point into the floor with a quick, fluid motion. She smiled at the shocked look on Frau Holtz's ruddy face. She held her arms out before her and clenched and unclenched her honey-colored hands. “Still nimble, wouldn't you say, Frau Holtz?” she laughed and withdrew the weapon from the floorboards. Swiftly, she spun about and rested the blade's tip against the portly woman's middle.

“Extremely nimble,” the Frau grimaced.

“A few simple exercises and practice sessions with Caleb and my form will return,” Sirena observed confidently.

“And then . . . ?” the old housekeeper asked quietly.

Sirena shrugged her graceful shoulders. “Just that. My form will have returned,” she answered airily. “I've never killed for the sake of killing, Frau Holtz. You know this is true. It is only that I feel it to my advantage to keep in form,” she laughed. “I believe I'll rest until it is time for our meal. Wake me when it's ready, will you, old friend?”

“Ja.
I wake you. Sleep, Mevrouw.” The housekeeper settled herself on a hard, wooden chair and waited for Sirena to doze off. Her faded blue eyes were sad and tender. The Mevrouw had had more than her share of misfortune and, if she could find some escape from the loss in sleep, then the old woman decided no one would rob Sirena of it by awakening her.

As Frau Holtz stared down at Sirena, her heart lay heavy in her ample breast. Sirena had suffered more than any woman should. Everything had been stripped from her. Her wealth, her property, the man she loved and the son she adored. Only Caleb remained, the flesh of another woman. How long, Frau Holtz wondered, would it be before Sirena found Caleb too painful a reminder of Regan? Hadn't she already seen a coldness creep into the Mevrouw's eyes when she looked at the boy? Wasn't there a strident, hostile note to be heard in her voice when she spoke to Caleb? Frau Holtz shook her iron-gray head and attempted to turn her thoughts to happier times.

Jacobus had outdone himself in the preparation of the evening meal and it was with glowing pride that he placed a serving of flaky, baked, freshly caught fish before Frau Holtz. He had conceived a special treat for them by digging into his treasure trove of potatoes and frying them with one of his precious onions. Fresh vegetables were always a luxury aboard ship and from somewhere in his larder he produced a finely shredded cabbage stewed with morsels of salt pork and seasoned with vinegar.

Frau Holtz sniffed haughtily at his small miracle and began to pick delicately at her platter. To Jacobus' delight, one forkful was followed by another and another, until the Frau's plate looked as though it had been licked clean. The crew was more vocal in their appreciation, and the compliments were music to Jacobus' ears.

Only Sirena and Caleb ate sparingly. If anyone noticed their apparent lack of appetite, it went unmentioned. All knew they were measuring each other for the dueling match and both contenders knew an empty belly made a better warrior.

A brisk breeze blew up with the approach of evening and Caleb waited for Sirena to appear on the quarterdeck. The crew had gathered about, propping themselves against the rail or lazily lolling on the hatch doors. Caleb was aware of an exhilaration building within him.

Sirena appeared on deck, dressed as she always was when at sea, in her short, tatter-edged breeches and full-sleeved blouse which she tied tightly beneath her high, proud breasts. She had wrapped a multicolored silk scarf about her head to keep her long, heavy hair from flying into her face. Caleb felt a familiar pride in her as he watched Sirena walk toward him. It was easy to see why she had captivated Regan's passions. Open admiration shone in his dark gaze. Time and motherhood hadn't changed her at all. She was still as sleek as a cat and moved with a feline's easy grace. Her sinfully delightful legs were enhanced by the knee-high, black kid boots which were a part of her uniform, and her hips were still narrow and swung seductively when she walked. God, thought Caleb, how could my father turn away from such a magnificent creature.

There was nothing sexual in the way Caleb appreciated Sirena. He loved her, yes, but as a sister, and he hoped that one day he would find himself a woman as captivating and as exciting as Sirena, although at this moment he was certain that another such as she could never exist.

“Are you ready, Caleb?” Sirena asked, her eyes bright with challenge.

“Aye, Sirena, ready and waiting,” he answered, a grin splitting his face.

“Then select your weapon,” she instructed, holding forth the hilts of two rapiers. Caleb reached out, chose one and tested the thin blade by bowing it against the deck.

“You'll notice the fencing tips are in place. I wouldn't want you to take revenge for some real or fancied offense,” she laughed, a sour note in the tone. “We stepmothers have a reputation for being evil, or so you may have heard. Does the weapon meet with your expert satisfaction?” she teased lightly.

“More than you realize, Stepmother,” Caleb answered wickedly, taking fast swipes at the open air, the blade singing in a high-pitched whizz.

“If you're ready then,
en garde!”
she ordered, taking a stance, feet spread for balance, rapier extended.

Caleb moved to stand opposite her, his lean strength adding to his princely grace. He waited for her to take the first thrust and she did, the tip of her blade piercing the space between his arm and his midsection.

Sirena brought up her arm and flexed her knees, slashing again at Caleb's weapon. The blow nearly knocked the rapier from Caleb's grip and he took a firmer hold on the hilt. Sirena's strength surprised him and something in her eyes was unsettling. For a brief instant he wondered if she would have cut him with her first thrust had not the fencing tips been affixed.

Caleb took the initiative, aiming for Sirena's midsection. She parried, recovered and nimbly sidestepped as again her blade struck out. His arm flew backward and he was astounded at her agility.

Caleb parried, feinted to the right and touched the tip of his weapon to her shoulder.
“Touché!”
he shouted exultantly.

“So, Caleb, the lessons you learned under your fencing instructors were not for naught. How nimbly you handle yourself,” she breathed heavily. “You are a greater challenge than I imagined.” Quickly, her rapier touched the hard flesh of his thigh and he jumped backward away from the pressure. “You still have difficulty with your concentration; someday it may mean the end of you.”

Caleb's eyes widened then narrowed. Something in the tone of Sirena's voice and the wicked glare in her clear green eyes chilled his blood. Allowing her opponent no time to regain himself, Sirena plunged onward, driving Caleb back against the rail. Time and again the tip of her weapon sought his flesh, time and again he parried, eluding the dangerous thrusts.

Fine beads of perspiration glistened on Sirena's upper lip and it was evident to all who watched that she was hard pressed to see the contest to its finish. She moved with the grace of a cat, but to Caleb's knowing eye she had become slower, out of practice. Her offensive tactics were contrived to conceal her deficiencies.

For an instant Caleb considered allowing her this win. He felt it would abate some of her torment and perhaps restore her faith in herself. A small voice called to Caleb. Let her win, let her win. It's what she wants, what she needs! Save her this disgrace before her crew.

So totally against his principles were Caleb's thoughts, that he rose to his own defense. His movements were those of a dancer, light and sure-footed. His motions were limited to protecting himself from her onslaught. He knew that at any time he could take her. The muscles in his back were bunched in anticipation. His blood ran fast, but his breathing remained light and unlabored. He had almost decided to give her a further advantage over him when he saw the smile on her face. Macabre! A grimace more than a smile. Deadly! A hatred burning from within. Caleb knew in that instant that Sirena was not seeing him, Caleb, within pointed range of her weapon. Her adversary was Regan.

Sirena's heart pounded within her breast. Her arm was heavy and becoming impossible to lift. The rapier which had once been an extension of her own limb had become awkward and alien to her. Still, she pushed Caleb backward. Her blade came up with lightning speed and slashed across Caleb's chest. She did not take her eyes from him. She watched him feint from one side to the other, always staying out of reach. Only the clash of steel upon steel could be heard above her ragged breathing. She was out of condition and she knew it, and her possible failure drove her onward with a vengeance.

The falling night lengthened the shadows, and in the half-light Caleb seemed to become Regan. Regan whom she hated; Regan whom she loved. Caleb's costume enhanced the resemblance to his father: white shirt open to the waist, baring an expanse of bronze chest.

Reckless fury overtook her, blocking out all reason. Beyond feeling, she took the advantage again, swiping at Caleb's weapon, sending a jarring blow near the hilt where he gripped it, sending the rapier sailing across the deck.

The silence of the onlookers was ominous, bated, waiting for Sirena's next move. Jan stood ready to intervene, knowing Sirena's mood had become lethal, waiting to step in to Caleb's defense if necessary.

“Pick up your weapon,” she ordered in a tightly controlled voice. “This contest is not over.”

Caleb stepped across the deck, the hackles raising on his neck as he reached for his rapier. He had sensed a change in her since the contest began. This was the old Sirena—as she had been. when she met with her enemies. But
he
wasn't her enemy! He was Caleb! Astounded that her feelings toward him had changed so radically, Caleb moved mechanically back to the opposing position.

Horrified, he and the crew watched Sirena pointedly remove the protective tip from her blade. Glaring at him through half-lowered lids, she warned, “You see what I have done. Protect yourself, remove the tip from your weapon!”