Mistress of the Stone (9 page)

“Are you all right?”

“Don’t you hear it?”

“I hear nothing but the groans of the ship.” Paqua lifted the necklace out of the box and placed it in her hands. “If you hear the stone, it’s because it recognizes you. ’Tis your birthright. Your father should have given it to you long ago. It is a seer’s stone.”

“It’s magicked then?”

“Very much so. All moonstones tell the future to the right eyes, but this one can do more. It can channel magic.”

Luísa rolled her eyes at him. “What good is it then? I don’t know any magic.”

“Magic is in the blood,
niña
. Your mother had it and her mother before her.”

“Bah,
viejo
! Mamacita never spoke of such things.”

He gurgled a laugh. “Aye. I’m not surprised. Your Mamacita was a proud woman. She’d never admit to sorcery.” He polished the smooth stone with his scarred thumb. “But this gem is the very reason Inácio raised you in Spain rather than in his homeland in
Brasil
.”

Luísa lifted her brow in suspicion. “Why Spain?”

Paqua shrugged. “Perhaps because it is an ocean away from the West Indies and Saint-Sauveur.”

“Must that frog-eater haunt me all the rest of my days? What connection does he have to this stone?”

“None, save the unholy obsession for making it his. The stone is a tool. But it is powerless without its mate, an identical stone that was worn by your greatly grandmother nearly two hundred years ago.”

“Then it is useless to him and to me.”

“Perhaps. None of us know for sure.”

She fondled it, losing herself to its song. “It’s beautiful though. Isn’t it?”

“It’s cursed,” he said flatly. “And I fear so are you.”

Chapter Six

Daltry felt better now. He felt human, especially since last night when Luísa came down to check on him.

He smelled the heat on her and it took all his willpower to rein in his impulse. The girl tempted fate, prancing in front of him like a naughty vixen. Did she think he wouldn’t notice the way she brushed against him or swung her hips as she walked away? He had a good mind to give her a sound spanking—after he made love to her, of course.

The sound of another visitor beckoned. Daltry hoped it was Luísa again, but no. It was the boy.

Dooley had returned with clean water and a foul-smelling stew. The lad fed him by the spoonful, under orders not to release him. Daltry swallowed each mouthful and thought it best not to ask what was in the watery mash. It was enough that it stayed in his stomach.

The boy came and left, forbidden to stay any longer than necessary. Breakfast was long over, but unlike past days, no one had returned to ask if he needed to relieve himself. Was he to soil himself where he stood? Barbarians!

He twisted his head from side to side. His addiction sated, his only real protest was captivity. His sore arms stretched taut to either side of an overhead beam and his ankles were shackled to the floorboards, restricting his movements to a few inches in any direction.

He heard the click of boot heels in the distance. Light, yet distinct.
Luísa
. His kitten was granting him a midmorning audience.

He watched as she climbed down. The shirt that had concealed so much of her bounty yesterday was unbuttoned to her collarbone today. A bright red scarf adorned the top of her head, making her fit for fighting—or bedding. He preferred the latter. She smelled of sex and the subtle scent of roses. It made it hard to concentrate on anything else.
Blasted girl.
She tested his limits.

She said nothing at first, letting her eyes do all the talking as she studied him from his bare feet to his midsection.

Was it his imagination, or did that little imp linger at his groin? The mere thought raised an erection that bloomed and pushed out against his constricting breeches.

He followed her gaze. By the time it reached his chest, she was licking her lips.
Naughty girl.
Daltry smiled.

“Back for more, kitten?”

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “You’ll find this kitten won’t hesitate to throw you overboard if my father is not where you say he is.”

“Be a smart girl and send your men to the island. Don’t go there yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because there are demons on that island, luv. Demons that devour brash little pirates.”

Luísa came closer, no doubt emboldened by the fact that he was stretched out like a main sail. She ran a hand at the back of her head, and pulled off her scarf. Careless fingers fluffed her hair, then snagged a silver chain around her neck and fished it out.

Daltry thought he had stopped breathing.
The moonstone.
That cursed stone.

“Are there werewolves on the island?” Luísa asked.

Daltry stiffened for a moment before regaining his confidence. “What know you of werewolves, little girl?”

She laughed, seemingly delighted with the conversation.

“Paqua raised me on shapeshifter stories. He told me werewolves can’t control their change. That’s why they have to live apart from humans. And—and,” she said excitedly. “They like to eat virgins!”

Daltry busted into laughter, unable to contain himself. “Virgins! My, my. Well, I suppose there might be truth in that, though I think you might have misunderstood the context of the word,
eating
.”

She frowned at him. “What else can eating mean?”

He smiled at her kindly. “You really are a virgin, aren’t you, kitten?”

She drew back, insulted. “You’re in no position to mock me, sir.”

Daltry pulled at the shackles on each wrist. “It does appear that way, Miss. I seem to be at your every whim.”

Luísa blew out a breath, and her expression stiffened before sneaking a look behind her. Her eyes lit with mischief and Daltry could sense she plotted something new.

“You are at my service, aren’t you,
Capitán
?”

“So it seems.” He tugged again on the chains holding his arms hostage.

“And I would be doing you a favor if I offered you some relief from these chains.”

“You would.”

“Then perhaps you could do me a favor too.”

One brow lifted.
What was she up to?

“What favor do you ask of an imprisoned wretch?”

“Your silence,
Capitán
.”

Daltry tilted his head with amusement. “I would be the soul of discretion, Miss. What am I to be silent about?”

She drew closer with breath so gentle it stole his own. Before he realized it, her soft lips pressed against his. His wolf side ached to come out, but he fought back the urge. Instead, he leaned as far forward as he could and kissed her back.

The girl looked as if she were going to swoon until she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips separated from his, but still she didn’t let go.

“I never knew kissing could be like this.”

“Release me, and I can show you more than kissing.” The words were laced with craving.

Luísa got off her tiptoes, then ran her hands down his chest. “Your word, sir. You won’t tell anyone I kissed you.”

“And risk my ’nads for defiling a virgin? Aye, Miss. Your secret is safe with me.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you,
Capitán
Daltry. I’ll see about getting you a respite from these chains, at least for a few minutes.”

Boldly, Luísa stroked the rough burr on his cheek, then laughed. “Paqua and his silly superstitions. You don’t have enough of a beard to be a werewolf,
Inglés
.”

She opened her mouth to say something else when the
Coral
rocked hard to port. Luísa fell against Daltry’s chest. He wanted to protect her with his body, but the chains held him in place.

“We’re under attack. Unlock these shackles, Luísa!”

“No! You’re safer here,
Inglés
. I’ll come back for you as soon as I find out what’s afoul.” She darted for the ladder, crashing into it instead when a second volley hit the
Coral
.

“Luísa!”

“I’m all right,” she said, looking a little stunned. She stole a glance at him once more before disappearing through the hatch.

A single drum rattled in fervor while men shouted from the rat lines. A ship in sight. An enemy. And he was stuck here.

Chapter Seven

Blast this wicked fog. It had caught them unawares. They’d pay dearly for that blindness. Luísa raced to the wheel, the sailing master leaning into a turn with all his weight.

The enemy had struck two lucky blows. But now the rough of the sea had given them some time to plot. The roll of both ships put them out of range at least for the moment. The time to act was now. But instead of turning to fight, the
Coral
was fleeing.

Why?

Paqua was at Barbosa’s neck, spitting out orders. The only thing in Luísa’s mouth were curses.

“Blast it, Paqua! Why are we showing our heels? We’re fit to fight.”

“Are you daft, girl? Did you not feel the weight of that last blast? We’re outgunned. Whoever that spider is, she’s in a heavier class than we can challenge.”

“If she’s heavy, she’s also slow. And two can play hide and seek in this fog. Let’s circle around and take her while we can.”

She slapped Cintas, the sailing master, across the back then took the wheel from him. “Ready about, Cintas! Make that rudder scream in the wind. Quartermaster! Call the men to stations.”

“Belay that order, both of you!” Paqua pulled Luísa off the wheel. “We’ll not go looking for trouble.”

“Are you mad? It could be the brigands who took Papa. Or Saint-Sauveur. We could take that bastard down and drown him to Davy Jones’s locker once and for all.”

“Which is exactly why we’re running. Saint-Sauveur has a frigate the size of Gibraltar, with guns to match. Did you forget what she did to the
Persephone
?”

Luísa tugged on her co-captain’s shirt collar. “We have the advantage, Paqua. We can take her. I know we can.”

He peeled her fingers from his collar and cupped her hands in his. “No,
preciosa
. Trust me on this.” He showed her the chicken foot at his throat. “If that ship finds us, you are doomed.”

“Me?”

“Aye, Luísa. I have seen it.”

The men stood slack-jawed and worried, knowing their captains weren’t in accord. Some clenched to rigging, others to their side arms. All of them anxious for a decision.

“As you will, Captain.” The words tasted like ash in her mouth. She lowered her eyes and then her voice. “Let us flee like cats in a storm.”

“’Tis a shame you don’t have the sense of a cat.” Paqua rousted the men to attention. “Keep a weather eye. We’ve not lost the bastards yet.”

Dooley craned his neck starboard. “We’ve not lost them at all, sir. I see something!”

A half dozen men squinted and stretched over the rail as far as they could. Luísa wished she could tear a hole in the fog’s veil for one good look, but all she could see was the gray breath of Neptune.

“I see nothing, boy.” Paqua yelled back, worrying Khourru’s foot between knotty fingers.

Dooley didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, instead staring straight ahead as if he could burn a hole through the fog.

“I saw something, Captain. I did. It was the black mast of a frigate.”

Black Barbosa ruffled Dooley’s red hair. “Ye fancy danger where this is none, lad. We turned our rudder as soon as that first blast hit us. The
Coral’s
as fast as a dolphin in heat. I’ll lay odds we left that lumbering piece of ballast in our wake.”

Dooley didn’t give up, refusing to leave the rail.

Luísa put her hand on his shoulder. “Tomas is right, Dooley. I’ve not seen a ship yet that could catch us at a run. Fog plays tricks on us all.”

Dooley hung his head. “Yes, Captain-ma’am. As you say.” He turned to walk away when a ball of iron flew past them and into the mizzenmast, cracking it in half. The blast knocked Luísa off her feet and into Dooley’s arms.

They stared at one another, too shocked to speak as he helped her up. Another volley, but this one hit the opposite rail, hauling a man overboard.

Paqua and Barbosa had every free man on ropes and rigging, while the sailing master heaved the
Coral
to where the wind blew strongest.

“Get to the arms locker, Dooley, and pass out every musket and sword.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“And Dooley…” Luísa braced herself against the rail. “You earned yourself a bonus today. I’ll never doubt those eyes again.”

Dooley saluted. “Thank you, ma’am. I hope I live long enough to enjoy it.” He dashed to the armory.

Paqua almost ran into Luísa as she made to help with rigging. He grabbed her by the arm. “Go to your quarters, Luísa.”

“I most certainly will not. What if we’re boarded?”

“That’s why I want you in your quarters. I want you to hide behind that secret compartment where Inácio keeps his loot.”

“I’m not hiding!”