Pirate Wolf Trilogy (112 page)

Gabriel debated calling Eduardo back but
then he felt cool fingers brushing across the muscles of his bare
upper arm and saw Eva beside him, quietly lacing and tying the
tapers. He tried not to look too uncomfortable—indeed he wondered
why he even gave it a second thought—each time the nimble little
fingertips skimmed his flesh. It was far from being the first time
a woman had dressed or undressed him, yet he was conscious of
standing taller and keeping his eyes focussed straight ahead.

After the sleeves were attached, she helped
him with the stiffly goffered white ruff that went around his neck.
When she picked up the pillow hat, the feather drooped precariously
on a broken stem. While he muttered over the tightness of the ruff,
she searched through the chest until she found a thick indigo plume
to replace the bent feather and after he raked his hair back and
set the cap on his head, he stood back and spread his arms wide so
she could assess the results.

"Well? Think you I could pass for a puffed
up Spanish peacock?”

Eva felt an odd tingling spread outward from
her belly, for in truth, he looked quite magnificent. The swelling
around his eye was barely noticable and the bruises on his cheek
had faded enough to blend with his deep tan. The scabbing had come
off the slash that ran down the side of his cheek, leaving a pale
pink line that traced the square, rugged jawline. His lips, which
had been mostly hidden by the beard, were full and shaped like sin
itself, and while he still bore the physical evidence of having
been in a battle recently, he now clearly looked like the
victor.

She lowered her eyes
quickly and nodded. "You look quite regal,
Senor
Capitan
."

Dante smirked and snatched the Spanish
signal book off his desk. "Stay here. Keep the bolt across the
door."

"What if the ruse fails and you have to
fight?"

The tarnished gold of his eyes looked back
and locked briefly with hers. "You will be safe enough here."

And then he was gone, ducking through the
door, the plume dragging along the underside of the lintel.

Eva moved slowly to close
the door behind him and lock it. Something in the way he had
said
safe enough here
made her run the tip of her tongue across her lower lip, as
if she could still taste the remnants of their kiss. Something else
made her nibble on the same lip and glance over at the sea chest.
It had contained the former captain's finery, but while looking for
the feather, she had discovered something else folded carefully and
packed at the bottom.

~~

"They're definitely comin' to have a closer
look," Stubs said as Dante joined him on deck. The barrel-chested
quartermaster looked comical in an oversized doublet and trunkhose
that made his legs look like two spindly sticks. He wore a striped
cap that kept slipping off the bald side of his head and drooping
over his eye.

Eduardo, dressed like a Spanish cabin boy,
handed Gabriel his spyglass. Two of the ships were close enough to
fill the magnifying lens completely and showed tiny figures moving
about on deck. Another two hours, if their speed held, the lead
galleon would be within hailing distance.

The wind was sporadic and
untrustworthy, and, as Gabriel carefully swept the glass across the
westerly horizon, he could see why. They were running parallel to
the rocky coastline of Espiritu Santu. The irony was not lost on
him that they were in the Tongue, the passage where
La Fantasma
had possibly
met her end when she had been blown off course by the
hurricane.

That thought made him stare harder at the
four galleons. He was not a man who believed in coincidences, yet
they appeared to be pushing themselves into his face so he had to
at least acknowledge them. First the girl with her improbable story
of the coin and the search for her missing father. Then the letter
found in the packet of correspondence bound for Spain, hinting that
another search was about to begin for the lost treasure ship. And
now four galleons, well away from the normal patrol lanes, were on
a course straight down the Tongue.

Neither of the two lead ships showed battle
damage, making it unlikely they had been part of the recent
conflict. They both showed multiple open gunports, however, so they
were suspicious bastards, whoever they were.

"Reef all sails so it looks like we're just
as curious as they are," he said quietly to Stubs. "But get men up
there with buckets to wet down the sheets. If we have to maneuver
out of range fast, I want every breath of wind we can catch, every
knot of speed we can squeeze out of the bitch.”

While Stubs relayed the orders, Gabriel
signalled to the master gunner. Giddings was the oldest member of
the crew, lean and wiry, and did twice the work of men who were
half his age. He had an affinity for blowing things up and had
personally tested each cannon on board.

“Open the ports and run out the upper tier
of culverins. If they can show their teeth, so can we, and since
ours are bigger, it might make them think twice about annoying
us."

"Aye Cap'n. An' might I say ye cut a fine
figure as a Spanish officer."

Gabriel glared and ran a finger around the
plate-sized ruff where it was pinching his neck. It was pleated so
stiffly it reminded him of the time he and Jonas were locked in a
stockade. He was also coming to realize why Spanish officers all
walked straight as pikes. It was out of fear of having the
stiffened, pointed end of the doublet turn them into eunuchs.

He had to admit, however,
looking around at his crew, he would have no reason to suspect they
were not Spanish. There was a sea of scarlet and black, of plumes
and striped caps. Apparently the
capitan's
taste in clothing had been
the order of the day for his crew as well.

"Whup, there they go," Stubs said, pointing
out the flags that were being run up the lines on the lead
ship.

Dante consulted the signal book and relayed
the order of colored flags to form the proper response. The galleon
appeared to be satisfied and showed no sign of slowing or
maneuvering into a hostile position.

"How well do you speak Spanish?" Dante asked
in a murmur.

"I understand most of it. Can't speak but a
few words though, just enough to get an ale or a whore, or tell a
sonofabitch to surrender or lose his guts through his nose."

Beside them, Rowly touched a forelock. "One
o' my wives was from Castile so I know all the swear words.”

"Marvellous," Dante said dryly. "If they
come aboard we can ask them if they want to drink or fuck.”

"Ye think they'll want to come aboard?"

"I'd be surprised if they didn't."

"I count 'arf a dozen spyglasses, Cap'n.
They're watchin' us as closely as we're watchin' them."

Dante nodded grimly, but he
was far more interested in the ships themselves. They were easily
half the tonnage of the
Endurance
with ten gun ports down each side for heavy
cannon as well as smaller perriers and several light swivel guns
mounted fore and aft. One on one, the
Endurance
outmanned and outgunned
the Spanish ships, but if they had to take on all four, combined in
force, they might be hard-pressed to avoid taking heavy
damage.

“That fourth ship is still hangin’ back,”
Stubs pointed out. “Appears to have come to a dead stop, as a
fact.”

“Maybe her capitan is shy.”

Stubs hawked and spat, not buying into that
explanation.

Neither was Dante as he glanced casually
down over his own main deck. He did not see the scarlet and stripes
this time so much as the solemn faces of his men, most of them
crouched down out of sight. He noted some of the wounded had come
up from their sickbeds below and his chest swelled with pride. Any
grumblings or misgivings or questions they had concerning his
sanity over rescuing Eva and bringing her on board had been
replaced by absolute loyalty, trust, and a craving to avenge their
lost shipmates.

He felt a slight change in
the motion of the
Endurance
and noted the dark shades of blue as the currents
lulled them into to the treacherous stretch of reef that ran
alongside the island. The wind may have fallen off, but there were
other elements running beneath the keel that might be used to good
advantage.

Something was still bothering Dante about
the galleons.

He turned his focus to the lead ship. It had
glided close enough for him to see the soldiers and officers on the
quarterdeck. The open ports worried him but there was no sign of
gun crews standing at the ready. No other signal flags had been
raised, not even the white flag calling for a parlay. Two of the
other three ships had moved up to flank their leader, leaving the
fourth still too far back to identify. In another few minutes, the
lead ships would be in the ideal position to unleash full
broadsides and every instinct he possessed told him that was
exactly what was about to happen.

The itching sensation across the nape of his
neck grew more persistent, and this time it was not from the
tightness of the ruff. He trained his glass on the lead ship and
extended the telescoping shaft as far as it would reach.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “That’s no
goddamn patrol.”

“Eh?” Stubs raised his glass.

“The black-haired bastard
with the winemark on his face. That’s Estevan Quintano Muertraigo.
He was in command of the garrison in Havana until he got too greedy
and was arrested. He was sentenced to hang but his men broke him
out and he’s been flying the
jolie
rouge
ever since.”

“He i’n’t flyin’ it now,” Stubs
observed.

“No. But I expect his ploy is similar to our
own, to give the appearance of a normal patrol, get close enough to
their quarry, then force a surrender or blast them out of the
water.”

Dante lowered the glass. The itching
persisted but at least he knew the cause. The Spaniard was cautious
enough to know Dante’s thirty-two-pounders could do considerably
more damage than his twenty-fours at such close range. Dante could
prove that point now by opening fire first. There was a fair to
even chance he could destroy at least one of the three ships, but
then the battle would be on against the other two. And if they
caught him in a crossfire, it would likely end badly, especially
with the wind reduced to a luffing breeze.

Indecision was not a part
of his nature and Gabriel wondered if the recent capture and loss
of the
Valour
had
wreaked more havoc on his nerve than he suspected. He could not
afford to let his crew think he was hesitant about going into
battle. The eyes of each and every man on board were watching him,
waiting for him to give the signal. They would fight. They would
die to the last man if he asked it of them.

Dante glanced up at the brilliant blue of
the sky. The sun was out, the breeze smelled sweet, bringing the
scent of pine and frangipani from the distant island.

It was a good day to die.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Just as he was about to give the order to
open fire, Gabriel heard a commotion on deck and turned to search
out the cause. Beside him, Stubs’ eyes were nearly popped out of
their creases, and as Dante followed the quartermaster's stare, his
flew equally wide.

Eva Chandler had come up on deck. She was
wearing an elegant gown cut from fine green moire silk, heavily
embroidered from waist to neck with a matching panel of gold leaves
and vines down the front of the skirt and around the hem. The neck
was high, severely modest in the Spanish style, topped by a narrow
ruffle liberally embellished with pearls and gold thread. Her hair
had been gathered up in a high twist, the camphored oiliness of it
covered by a lace veil over which sat a pert green velvet caplet
trailing silk ribbons.

Up close, it was easy to see where the hooks
and eyes on the bodice were not evenly matched, where lacings had
not been pulled tight, and where bare toes peeked out from beneath
the sweeping circle of the farthingale. But from a distance she
could fool the sharpest eye into admiring the exquisite richness of
the garment, the delicate beauty of the woman wearing it, the
feminine puff of the lace handkerchief she withdrew from a ruffled
cuff and held daintily to her nose.

Dante could barely contain his anger. “What
the devil do you think you are playing at?”

"I found this in the captain's sea chest,"
she explained. "He must have been taking it home to his wife or
mistress. You did say I could try waving a bit of lace and
appealing to their gallant nature to simply sail away and leave us
unmolested."

She faltered slightly at the look of
absolute horror on Dante's face but she managed to walk past him
and stand at the rail. With one hand gripping the wood for support,
she smiled gaily and waved the lace by way of a friendly greeting
to the men watching from the galleon... men who appeared to be as
momentarily shocked by her appearance on deck as Dante—and indeed
Dante's entire crew—had been.

"This is not a game,” he said through his
teeth. "In case you have lost the ability to count along with all
of your senses, there are four of them and only one of us."

"I count very well Captain. Mostly I have
counted the number of times I have been forced to let someone else
decide my destiny. If this ship is attacked and I am to die today,
I would as soon do it with the sun on my face, not hiding under a
table in your cabin."

Her words so closely mirrored Gabriel's own
thoughts that he bit back the command that would have had two of
the crewmen hastening her below and locking her in a pen with the
livestock.