Captive Secrets Read online

  The moment the door closed behind her, Luis was wide awake, wondering if making love to Furana van der Rhys would be half as satisfying as this. His last conscious thought before drifting off was to wonder what it would be like to make love to the Sea Siren.

  Luis woke at midmorning to a light tapping at his door. He mumbled something, then immediately rolled over and went back to a half sleep. A moment later he became aware of muted noise and activity in his room and jerked to wakefulness, thinking Clarice operated a day shift of sorts.

  They were lined up, all five of them, dressed in proper day attire and looking every bit the same as the town ladies. Only their eyes were merry and devilish when they pointed to the tub full of steaming water.

  Of course, he needed a bath! He reeked of himself and Naula, not to mention the coconut oil. He was aware for the first time of the bits and pieces of feathers from the pillows sticking to his oiled skin. Willingly he allowed himself to be led, by five giggling females, to the inevitable.

  An hour later he was so clean, he literally squeaked. Every inch of his skin had been prodded, poked, rubbed, and scrubbed. He squinted at his glowing skin. In his entire life he’d never been this clean.

  Breakfast, they said, would be served in the dining room. Luis dressed quickly. Clarice, he decided, managed a full-scale operation that ran smoothly. He’d been in many a brothel, but none like this.

  It was past the noon hour when Domingo and Dykstra tripped down the whitewashed steps of Clarice’s establishment. “How was your evening?” Dykstra asked him.

  “Superb,” Luis said, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. “And yours?”

  “Equally superb. Clarice certainly knows how to treat a man. We must come back again.”

  “By all means.” Luis grinned.

  “Meanwhile, back to business,” Dykstra said coolly. “Before leaving the office yesterday I gave orders to have one of the company’s frigates readied for the evening tide. If you are ready to begin, that is. If not, tomorrow will be soon enough. I think we covered everything last evening. If there’s anything else . . .”

  Luis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No. From here on in I’ll manage. I’ll be aboard the Silver Lady until it’s time to sail, should you need to get in touch with me. Otherwise, I’ll plan to sail with the tide. The sooner I get matters under way, the sooner this will be resolved.”

  “Remember, Domingo, I want her—one way or the other!” Dykstra said as they parted at the Dutch East India offices.

  Luis nodded and strode off. One way or the other . . . If necessary, could he kill a woman, even one who’d robbed him of his dream? He prided himself on being a gentleman. A poor gentleman, thanks to the sea witch.

  As he leapt on board the Lady, he decided he could kill a woman if his life was in danger. But the woman hadn’t yet been born who would ever get that advantage over him again. No woman was as strong and powerful as a man. This he believed implicitly.

  While Luis Domingo was transferring his belongings to the Dutch East India’s ship, Fury van der Rhys was slipping and sliding down the rise that bordered the Rana’s berth. She looked back to the top and waved to Juli, who was busy untying a bundle from her stiffly starched apron.

  “Hold out your arms!” she shouted. Without thinking, Fury stretched out her arms and caught the packet.

  “What is it?” she called up. Juli brought her hand to her forehead in the age-old maritime salute. Fury laughed excitedly as she slipped into the water. Minutes later she was climbing the rope ladder that would lead her onto the Rana’s decks.

  Dripping water, the bundle tied around her neck, Fury hauled herself up on deck and looked about her, her face full of awe. This was her ship now. Strange feelings rushed through her as she touched first one thing, then another. Her mother’s ship . . . Her mother had fought and killed aboard this ship to avenge her sister’s death. She’d made love down below with Fury’s father. How many times, Fury wondered, had she cheated death on these same decks? Suddenly the urge to swim back to shore was so strong, she had to grip the rail to keep from bolting. She dropped her hands to her sides when she saw Gaspar and Pilar work their way down in the warm breeze. “You’re a welcome sight,” she called. She stroked the birds’ sleek heads, laughing as Pilar pecked at the bundle around her neck. “I don’t know, maybe it’s a mid-afternoon snack. I suppose we could eat it now.”

  How curious they were, these beauties of hers, she thought as she undid the twine around the bundle. The hawks rustled beside her quietly, their black eyes glittering with alarm at her gasp of surprise as she withdrew her mother’s costume from the bundle. She could imagine Juli smiling at the thought of her reaction. She brought the fine lawn shirt to her cheek and swore she could smell her mother’s scent. The birds inched down the brass railing, their eyes never leaving her face. “Stay here,” she ordered, “I’ll be right back.”

  In her mother’s old quarters, Fury shed her wet clothing. Above deck she could hear the birds and knew they wondered what she was doing. She herself was wondering the same thing. Whatever it was, she knew it was something she had to do. What she was feeling, right now, this very minute, was quite different from what she’d experienced when she’d first dressed in the costume—the day she’d arrived at the estate. That had been amusing; this was real. So real, in fact, that she raced up to the wheelhouse and gripped the wheel the way her mother had hundreds of times, the way she herself had when she’d brought her father’s ship into port with the aid of Gaspar and Pilar.

  Where were they? Frantically she looked around and saw Gaspar take wing and soar straight up out of sight. Pilar remained on the railing. She frowned; the two hawks never separated from each other unless they had to—or in case of danger. She raced to the bow of the ship, her eyes searching for Gaspar.

  In the distance she saw Juli, who was waving frantically, as though trying to tell her something. Fury shielded her eyes and saw the housekeeper sweeping her arms about in wicked, slicing motions. Of course, the rapier. She remembered seeing both the rapier and cutlass below. Juli must have had one of her brothers bring the weapons on board earlier. She ran to the cabin and brought the weapon back on deck. Razor-sharp and wicked as sin, it was; she flexed it, her stance secure as she danced back and forth across the deck. “En garde!” she cried as the blade nicked and sliced at the warm air.

  She was the Sea Siren.

  On the rise Juli smiled her approval. “Now, little one, you’ll know what it’s like to feel alive.” She watched the pantomime below with bated breath, her eyes taking measure of the young woman who feinted, dipped, and slashed at an imaginary opponent. “You are your mother’s daughter,” she whispered at last.

  Down below, Fury was filled with a sudden fierce pride. She was instantly all things—courageous, beautiful, daring, accomplished—all the things her mother was before her. She was the Sea Siren.

  “Quarter!” she shouted triumphantly. “Quarter and your life is spared, señor!” Of course she would spare the Spaniard’s life, the way her mother had spared Regan’s. How could she do less? she thought, elated. She laid aside the rapier and ran below again to return with the heavy cutlass that was her father’s.

  Fury’s thoughts were swept away when she noticed Gaspar circling overhead, working the wind to descend. She shielded her eyes from the sun and saw something gleaming and sparkling in his talons. In the blink of an eye Pilar was off the rail to catch the shimmering bangle. A second later she was holding it out to Fury.

  “My garter! Gaspar, wherever did you get this!” she cried as she fingered the glittering diamonds. “The last time I saw this was the night of my birthday celebration. Gaspar, you took it! How wonderful! You brought it all this way.” Tearfully, Fury nuzzled the bird’s sleek head. “You could have given this to me any time since I’ve been here, but you waited till now. Why?”

  Both birds cocked their heads and regarded her with keen eyes.

  Fury sighed. “I won’t pretend to u
nderstand, but it’s obvious that you mean me to wear this.” Quick as a flash she secured the glittering circlet around her thigh. “Ooohhh, I feel so deliciously wicked,” she purred. “And now I understand. Before I was . . . pretending. This garter makes me real.” She clapped her hands to show her approval and watched as the birds soared high overhead. They would play now, delighted with their little trick.

  Vivid blue eyes stared down at the winking diamond garter. Long, tawny legs flashed in the sun as Fury brandished the heavy cutlass, nicking and slicing the air about her.

  A long time later, exhausted at last, she returned to her cabin to shed her costume. When she walked back on deck she was Fury van der Rhys.

  “I watched you. You were the Siren,” Juli said excitedly. “I want to hear what it was like walking about the ship. And what did those damnable birds give you?”

  “Juli, it was the most wonderful experience!” Fury exclaimed. “I felt as if I were bewitched for a time, and then when Gaspar brought the garter, I was me again. Oh, I can’t explain it! I was slicing at Senor Domingo and making him beg me—I was going to spare his life the way my mother spared my father’s. I never felt like that before. It was make-believe, a pretend game. And now it’s over,” she concluded sadly.

  “Hardly,” Juli muttered. “I think it’s just beginning. If we’re lucky, your clothes will dry before we reach the house. Tomorrow is another day, Miss Fury.”

  Fury nodded. “Yes, another day.”

  She was on her way up the stairs to retire when Juli came running up to say that Father Sebastian had just arrived and was waiting to speak with her on the veranda. Fury hurried out to him.

  “Father, what is it?” she cried anxiously. “What’s happened?”

  “I’m not sure, but I thought you would want to know. The talk in town is that Mynheer Dykstra hired Señor Domingo to find the Sea Siren. The señor sailed with the tide on one of the Dutch East India’s ships. Yesterday, a brigantine belonging to the Dutch East India Company limped into port. Her captain said she was attacked by the Sea Siren. She was shot broadside and all the Dutch East India’s cargo plundered. It’s just like before. The town is . . . they’re saying all manner of things. The merchants are putting a price on her head and the Dutch East India Company is adding its own. Every able-bodied ship is going to sea to hunt her down—dead or alive, they say.”

  “Did anyone actually see the . . . the impostor?”

  “The entire crew of the plundered ship, and that makes Señor Domingo’s story true. We never should have doubted him,” the old priest said sourly.

  Fury considered his words, brows furrowed in a pensive frown. “Father, don’t you find it just a little bit strange that Senor Domingo is the one hired by the Dutch East India Company to find the Sea Siren?”

  “Not in the least. He’s young and strong, and he actually had words with the woman. He was the logical choice. Mynheer Dykstra is too old to be hunting down the likes of this woman. It makes sense.”

  “Not to me, it doesn’t,” Fury snapped. “Perhaps they’re in this together. That’s logical.”

  “Furana!” cried the priest, shocked. “Mynheer Dykstra is your father’s old friend. He would never do anything so base. You should apologize for such a wicked thought. Although—” he hesitated.

  “What?” Fury demanded.

  “Both men were seen coming out of—”

  “Where?” Fury prodded when he seemed disinclined to continue.

  “Clarice’s . . . establishment. At midmorning. Today.”

  “Oh . . .” The information was a blow to Fury’s pride. She knew her face was scarlet as she led the way into the library, where she rang Juli for refreshments.

  “You’ll stay the night, Father. I insist.”

  “Yes, thank you, child. I don’t think I’m up to the trip back this evening.”

  Over coffee, Fury and Father Sebastian discussed other, inconsequential matters, but Fury’s mind was whirling with thoughts of Luis Domingo in Clarice’s establishment. True, her own father had gone to Clarice many, many times—or so her mother had said. But the idea of Luis Domingo in the arms of an experienced whore made her body hot all over.

  “Have you ever seen the women who work for Clarice?” she asked at last, unable to stand it a moment longer.

  “My, yes—and it would be hard to tell they weren’t town ladies,” the priest said piously. “Quite elegant they are when they shop. Only the finest. Very young and pretty.”

  “How pretty?” Fury asked, wanting to bite off her tongue for voicing the question.

  Father Sebastian leaned back in his chair, his eyes far away. “Very beautiful, I believe. The prettiest one is Naula. Clarice considers her a prize among all the girls.” He turned away then, embarrassed at the turn their conversation had taken. “Why are we talking about this, child?”

  Fury tossed her head defensively. “You brought up the subject, Father. I have no interest in brothels or the people who frequent them. Señor Domingo’s personal affairs are of no interest to me whatever,” she added, eyes flashing.

  “I thought we were discussing Mynheer Dykstra and the Spaniard,” the priest said fretfully. “Am I . . . did I forget something?”

  “No, of course not. You’re just tired. I’ll ring for Juli and have her show you to your room. Good night, Father.”

  “Sleep well, child.”

  A few minutes before midnight Fury rapped softly on Juli’s bedroom door. “These brothers of yours,” she asked when Juli beckoned her inside, “all seven of them, where are they?”

  “In town. Why, Miss Fury? Has something happened to Father Sebastian?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. If your brothers can crew my ship, I can sail on the morning tide. We need to send someone into town and arrange with them to meet me at the ship.”

  “Who? Are you sure you want the servants to know . . . Oh, I see, you want me to go into town. You are like your mother,” Juli grumbled as she began to dress. The housekeeper’s eyes widened when she took a good look at Fury and realized she was dressed and planning to make her way through the jungle in the darkness. “Miss Fury! You can’t possibly—”

  “The moon is bright, and I’ll take Gaspar and Pilar with me. The stable boys think me daft as it is. A moonlight ride won’t surprise them at all, and I’ll try to be quiet. You’ll have to send someone to care for the horse, though.

  “Promise your brothers they’ll be well paid,” she whispered as Juli slipped out the door.

  Later, on her way to the stable, Fury wondered where she was going to get the money to pay Juli’s brothers. Perhaps Mynheer Dykstra would advance her some money without asking too many questions.

  Fury saddled the mare and led her into the courtyard. Then she clapped her hands lightly and was rewarded with a swoosh of dark air. Somewhere in the darkness the hawks were waiting for her.

  Fury didn’t like the darkness. She never had. On the ride to the cove she tried to pray but soon gave it up in favor of an easier task—imagining the face of the whore Naula described by Father Sebastian. Beautiful, he’d said. Well, there was no one more beautiful than her mother. If the faceless Naula were half as pretty, she was indeed worth looking at. Had the famous Clarice assigned Naula to Luis Domingo? Probably, Fury decided. He was the type of man who would command only the best, the most experienced women. Lord, she hated her thoughts. Luis Domingo meant nothing to her, and if she sailed the Rana out to sea in search of him, she’d be endangering her life.

  Fury’s throat constricted as she thought of all the others who would be looking for the Sea Siren—Luis Domingo would not be alone. What chance would she have against a gaggle of cutthroats eager to claim the price on her head? And it was her head. Nowhere in this world was there a woman who could even come close to impersonating her mother . . . except for herself.

  Fury followed the jungle slope down, finally reaching the tiny beach that cupped the cliff-framed cove, and approached the ship. It took only m
inutes to pasture the horse and swim out to the Rana.

  Soaking wet, she made her way to the wheelhouse and the maps and charts she would need to steer down the river and out to sea. She prayed that twenty long years had shifted the rocks that gave the River of Death its name. If not, she would need every ounce of skill to somehow skirt the killing rocks at the ocean’s edge.

  Fury’s touch was reverent as she unrolled first one map and then another until she found what she wanted. If she was unlucky enough to be seen, she would sail around the west tip of Java. “Anyone in pursuit will think the sea swallowed me whole,” she muttered. This map of the eastern isles was going to be a blessing.

  Her slender fingers trailed across the old maps her mother had sailed by. There was no reason to believe she couldn’t manage the trip. Still, she didn’t feel at all as confident as she had the previous day when she’d come aboard. Of course, then she’d had the costume and the weapons. They made the difference. Dressed as she was now, she was a lady, a visitor on board ship. It was a feeling she didn’t like at all.

  Below in her cabin she stripped off her wet clothing and slipped into the costume she’d worn the day before. As if by magic, the same feeling returned. Before she allowed herself to think about her transformation, she was on deck, cutlass in one hand, rapier in the other.

  Confident now, she strutted up and down the teakwood deck, getting the feel of the black boots, the diamond garter winking in the lantern light. Suddenly she stopped, eyes wide with the realization that she was different here aboard the Rana. Her hand measured the weight of the rapier, and she knew in that second she could wound, maim, or kill if she had to. Furana van der Rhys might flush, blush, and simper in the presence of Luis Domingo, but not this seafaring hellcat.

  She was striding again, the heels of her boots thumping on the deck as she tried to make sense of what she was thinking and feeling. Long ago, when her mother rode the seas, she lived under a dual identity, an identity that served her well. She was able to transform not only her outward appearance, but her personality as well. On land she was as capable as at sea, and she didn’t need the scanty costume or the Rana to be the Sea Siren. Fury, however, needed both to assume her mother’s old identity. “And that doesn’t say much for me,” Fury muttered, one hand still clutching the hilt of the rapier.