Captive Embraces Page 11

  “Who ever heard of a ship with a copper bottom. Ships should be made completely of wood. Wood at least floats!” the Frau blurted, her brows pulled down in a scowl.

  “If Grandfather designed her, she will float,” Sirena soothed, patting Frau Holtz’s gloved hand. “If you like, you can remain behind in Cádiz. Tio Esteban will watch over you for me.”

  “Watch over me, will he?” the Frau sniffed haughtily. “And who will watch over you? Nein, I go with you but I do not like it” Not for all the tea in China would she allow Sirena to go off to England without her and, if it meant she must sail aboard a doomed ship to stay with her mistress, she would do it.

  The carriage wheels clattered over the worn cobblestones up the winding streets toward the Valdez Villa. Before reaching the top of the incline, Señor Arroya begged to be let off a short distance from his home. When Sirena protested that they could drive him to his doorstep, he insisted that the short walk would help to increase his failing appetite. After warm adios and a promise to come for lunch the next day, Sirena and Frau Holtz continued on to their destination.

  “You still haven’t told me what you think of my birthplace, Frau Holtz.”

  “All the buildings look alike,” the German woman complained. “Why are all the houses so white? And the streets, they are all so narrow and winding. I wouldn’t care to walk them after dark. Nein, I do not think I like it.”

  “All the streets lead to the sea and they twist about so the incline is not so steep. Cádiz is an ancient and wealthy city. Ah, good friend, you lack the soul of a romantic. We’ll have to do something about that. However, we will only remain here long enough for the Sea Spirit to be completed. At the rate the carpenters are working, it will only be long enough for me to walk again the halls of my mother’s home and to taste the fruits of my homeland.”

  “Ja,” Frau Holtz murmured, not at all convinced.

  “When you see the Valdez estate, you will fall under its spell,” Sirena chattered on to relieve the housekeeper’s apprehension of strange places. She had lived so long on Java it was understandably difficult for her to acclimate herself to new surroundings. “At one time many gardeners were employed to keep the gardens and orchard in prime. The Valdez home was the most beautiful in Cadiz. Tio Esteban said the house had been kept in good repair but I’m certain it will require your firm hand.” With that statement the Frau seemed to glow. “And the gardens, wait till you see them. Oranges and grapes in the arbor. And home-pressed wines! We’ll have a bottle of Valdez wine with our dinner tonight. Oh, Frau Holtz, you have no idea how much I’ve missed Spain. Even I had forgotten how much a part of my homeland I really am. Java seems like a lifetime ago.” A frown settled over her lovely features. “It doesn’t matter now,” she whispered as the Frau reached for her hand. “Look! There’s the villa!”

  Frau Holtz leaned toward the window and looked to the top of the hill. There, in sprawling splendor, was Sirena’s home. The tiled roof was constructed to overhang the walls on all four sides and myriad pots and ceramic jars were hung, filled to overflowing with bright blossoms and fragrant herbs. As the carriage approached, outbuildings could be seen in the distance and the Frau surmised these were the servants’ quarters. The walkways were pebbled with white stones and glittered in the sunlight and directed the eye to the deep shadows where light, airy furniture, suited to the outdoors, blended in with the foliage. The two-story building sported grilled windows and a balcony embraced the top floor.

  The next hour was spent doing all the things that women naturally do when taking occupancy of a new dwelling. The first action Frau Holtz performed was to survey the spacious kitchen area and the linens. Sirena reacquainted herself with several of the servants and was introduced to the others. She toured the home of her childhood and complimented the staff for their care and vigilance. She took Frau Holtz by the arm and led her through the rooms, pointing out this article or that and relating a story connected with each. Finally, with last instructions to a houseman on where he could find Jacobus and the message that the crew was to join her for dinner that evening, Sirena closed the door to her room and settled herself discontendedly on the bed where she had spent her girlhood dreams.

  It’s true then, she thought to herself, there is no going back. Only ahead. I don’t belong here. This isn’t my home. I should be feeling something, she thought sadly, I should be happy to be here. How many times in the past I’ve thought about it. But without Father, Isabella and Tio Juan here to share this with me, it’s all so empty. My home was anywhere Regan was. Regan and Mikel. But Mikel was taken from me and I drove Regan away. No, she cried silently, closing her eyes against the cool greens and soft beiges of her room, this is no longer home. The Villa Valdez, it is only bricks and beams and long-ago memories. This part of my life is over. Perhaps one day Caleb would want to live here with his bride. If not, the house could rot and decay and become part of the earth on which it stood.

  Without warning, a round ball of black fur jumped onto the bed beside her. “Ah,” Sirena said, “don’t tell me you too are homeless with no one to love you. There is nothing in this life more terrible. I love him so much,” she crooned as she stroked the cat’s sleek head. “I gave all I had to give and it still wasn’t enough. I stopped giving and I destroyed the only love I’ll ever want. I have nothing more to offer to any man. I gave it all to Regan.” Sirena nuzzled the kitten and whispered, “I’ll make him love me again. He has to. I’ll seek him out, tell him how much he means to me, that I love him. I’ll beg, I’ll plead, I’ll do anything, say anything if only he’ll love me again!” she cried brokenly, oblivious to the stranglehold she had on the animal. In defense of itself, it struggled from her arms and lashed out at her cheek, leaving behind a long scratch. As the kitten leaped from the bed, Sirena ran her slender fingertips over the wound and studied her bloodied finger. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she once again traced the length of the injury. “And if there is nothing I can say or do to make him mine, I’ll kill him. He belongs to me and I to him. He loved me once and he’ll love me again!”

  As she stopped weeping, an anger rose in her for the life she had led. She held her bloodstained finger before her and recalled what life had had to offer her since she had last seen Cádiz. Raped at sea by pirates, drugged and raped by Chaezar Alvarez. A life of deceit and lies to gain vengeance on Regan because she blamed him for the deaths of Tio Juan and Isabella and the crimes against her. Marrying Regan, loving Regan, giving him a son born of that love.

  A niggling voice whispered something about her destiny and nutmeg trees. Trees she had labored to plant to insure her son’s future. Now her son was dead and the trees still stood. Regan deserting her. Refusing to wait until she had adjusted to Mikel’s death. Assuming control of the inheritance left her by her family. Then insult of insults, offering to pay her three percent and poor Tio Esteban fighting for her interests. “Beware, Regan van der Rhys!” she intoned doom-fully. “I’ll track you down and in one way or another we’ll come to terms ... my terms!”

  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!”

  Chapter Nine

  “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.