Pirate Wolf Trilogy (110 page)

She reached out and plucked the pot from his
hand. "I can manage this part myself, thank you."

"As you wish," he said with a shrug. "And by
the way, yes you do."

"I do what?"

He grinned. "Have a pretty ass."

When she gasped again, he laughed aloud and
crossed to where his sea chests were set against the wall. A moment
of rummaging produced a reasonably clean shirt for himself and a
new pair of breeches for her.

"Put these on when you are finished. I would
rather not have you wandering around my ship with blood stains on
your leg. My crew might not believe I slept on the floor."

He chuckled and Eva nearly threw the pot of
unguent. To quell the urge, she thrust a finger into the brownish
goo and reached around to smear some on her thigh. When the balm
touched the shallow scratch, it took everything she had not to
scream and jump up and down and squeal. Her eyes filled with tears
and her jaw clamped shut. Her whole body, in fact, clenched tight
with the stinging pain and she could only imagine how Dante’s back
had felt as she slathered the stuff liberally over his raw
wounds.

Within seconds, however, a startling thing
happened. The burning faded, then vanished altogether, leaving a
complete absence of any feeling at all where the unguent had been
applied. She could breathe again. She could blink without seeing
stars in front of her eyes. She could touch her leg and pull up her
breeches without biting her lip to hold back a whimper.

Dante, meanwhile, had returned to his desk
and opened one of the last remaining packets of personal letters
that had been en route to Seville. His long fingers irreverently
snapped the thick wax seal and, with his attention diverted toward
the contents, Eva replaced the cork in the pot of unguent and
emptied the basin of dirty water out the gallery door.

Not quite forgiving enough to dismiss his
misguided sense of humor, she filled a plate with food and curled
up in the velvet chair, determined to eat her way through the meal
in silence.

Dante did not look up. His brow was drawn
into a frown as he concentrated on translating the letter, the
first of about ten that had been sealed inside the packet. Eva
leaned forward, intending to reach for another slice of cheese, but
his hand was there to stop her, his fingers grasping tightly around
her wrist.

"'I regret I cannot yet
return to the sweet bosom of my loving wife and family,'" he quoted
slowly, "'The commandant has confided in me that the search begins
again in earnest. He will not see such treasures fall into the
hands of a one-eyed English
aventurero
.'"

Dante looked up and Eva felt a shiver
slither down her spine.

"What do you think it means?" she asked, her
voice barely above a whisper.

"There are dozens of one-eyed adventurers
sailing around in these waters, so it could mean nothing."

"Or?"

Instead of answering right away he smoothed
the lower half of the letter flat so that she could see the rough
sketch that filled one of the quadrants. Eva did not need to open
the locket to know the drawing was almost an exact replica of her
Spanish escudo.

"Or... it could mean the sharks have already
begun circling.”

CHAPTER TEN

Gabriel spent the remainder of the morning
pouring over charts, making calculations in his head, drawing
sketches of wind and water currents. More than once he wished
Geoffrey Pitt was on board, for the man had sailed the Carribee
with Simon Dante for thirty years and his head was a vast book of
knowledge, filled with facts and minutia that he could recite upon
the instant. Gabriel could remember, fairly clearly, most of the
rumors and legends that surrounded the mystery of the vanished
treasure galleon, but solving a mystery was all in the details.

It was not aiding his concentration that Eva
insisted on helping. As it turned out, however, she could read
Spanish quite well, flourishes and all, so he had been able to set
her the task of pouring through the sack of personal letters.

Unfortunately she was sitting directly
across from him and each time she leaned forward to reach for a new
document, his attention strayed from the charts to the open vee of
her shirt. Twice his stealth had been rewarded with glimpses of
soft, rounded curves. Once, when he had inadvertently craned his
neck slightly to see further down the dusky valley, she had chosen
that moment to ask him a question. He had averted his gaze so
quickly he had nearly impaled his chin on the graphite pencil.

When he looked up now, she was twirling a
strand of hair around her finger and when she let it go, it formed
a perfect curl around her breast.

He cleared his throat and
frowned. "All of the reports suggest the fleet was caught here." He
touched a fingertip to the map and traced a light circle around the
area west of the Biminis. "Just about the area where the lead ships
would be beginning their run up through the Straits. The vanguard
would have known to stay well clear of the shallow banks,
especially with a storm approaching, but they also would have tried
to remain where the strongest currents would keep pushing them
north. Winds blow in a circular direction during a hurricane, so
most of the ships in the fleet were blown west, toward the mainland
of Florida. I am almost damn certain I read somewhere, in one of
the reports, that the
Victorio's
pilot was an arrogant bastard who boasted about
the ship's speed and stability. If he had tried to outrun the
storm, they could have ended up on the wrong side of the eye and
been swept in an easterly direction.

"Maneuvering one of these hulks in a light
gale with empty cargo holds takes ten years off a helmsman’s life.
Trying to keep her upright in winds that can tear the skin off your
face would have been near impossible." He clucked his tongue and
shook his head. "Even if she took in all her sails she would have
had no choice but to go where the weather took her."

Eva watched, quietly fascinated as he moved
his finger around the chart, muttering calculations to himself,
arguing against several possible conclusions and formulating
more.

"Three days and three nights in heavy wind.
Add to that, in a storm there is no difference between the sea and
the sky, they're both gray, with no stars, no sun for
navigation."

Eva watched his fingers tapping the chart.
She followed them to his wrist and up his sleeve, then from the
bearded chin to the profile he presented as he partially turned to
gaze out the gallery window. Most of the damage to his face was on
the left side, and she found herself contemplating the fact that he
might actually be quite handsome under all the fuzz and bruising.
She had noticed earlier, when he had yawned widely, that he was
missing a tooth on the rear upper left, but the rest were white and
even. His hair could benefit from a good washing and a sharp pair
of scissors, but the chestnut waves were thick and fell in a
natural curl to his broad shoulders.

It was difficult not to think of the two
times she had been cradled in those arms and held against that
chest. The first time she had been addled by fear and half-drowned,
but the second time... last night... when he had lifted her and
carried her to the bed, there was no mistaking that he was all
solid muscle.

She sat a little straighter and moistened
her lips. "Does that mean you believe me now, Captain? You believe
my coin is real and that my father may have found the lost treasure
ship?"

"It wasn't that I did not believe you, I
just..."

"Did not believe me."

He turned toward her and laid his hands flat
on the chart again. "Mistress Chandler... when you have lived in
this firepit of rumors and tales of lost ships, of ghost ships and
treasure galleons found in ten feet of clear water, yes, you tend
to become a bit of a skeptic. And you must admit your story was
more than a little fantastical. A letter from a baker's son. Coins
sent in a wax disks. A merchant turned treasure hunter. A beautiful
woman sailing three thousand leagues on her own to find him."

She smiled shyly and touched the oily tangle
of her hair. "Hardly beautiful, Captain. More like the little
squirrel you called me yesterday."

"I called you a squirrel?"

"Yes, you did."

He grunted softly under his breath and tried
not to stare at her mouth like a gawping schoolboy. The smile had
changed the entire composition of her face and revealed dimples in
both cheeks.

"I am not saying I discounted the story
entirely, but you must see why I had more questions than answers.
And I still do, for that matter."

"But at least you believe me now," she
said.

"Let us just say I am less skeptical."

"For someone to have
sketched the coin," she pointed to the Spaniard's letter, "would
that not imply that someone else has seen some of the treasure
salvaged from the
Nuestro Santisimo
Victorio?
Someone who has held one of the
coins, has studied it long enough to note all the markings?
Markings which you, yourself, said would be unique to those minted
specially for the king's portion of the treasure."

He peered at her across the desk. "I also
tend to dislike people who throw my own words at me."

Eva could not help but grin again at his
sour expression. "It only proves that I listen to everything you
say, Captain, and that I consider everything you say to be of
immense value."

He growled softly,
detecting more sarcasm than flattery. "Consider this then:
Supposing the
Victorio
was indeed, ahead of the fleet, and supposing she was blown
off course, but not west, as was originally supposed, but in an
easterly, circular direction."

Eva leaned forward as he swirled his finger
across the chart.

"The storm was monstrous
and, according to my father, came up fast during the dark of night
and struck with little warning.
If
the
almirante
was caught on the outer edge of the maelstrom
and
if
they were
blown into the Providence Channel and carried south, they might
have ended up in the approximate area where we are now—" his finger
traced a line down a wide passage marked as The Tongue of the Ocean
and paused where more wavey lines were marked with big letters
warning of a jagged reef. It followed alongside the large island of
Espiritu Santu, which was shaped rather like a drooping sleeve that
had been broken into three main sections.

His finger stopped and he stared hard at the
chart. One of his pistols was snugged against the rolled end,
holding the side flat. He moved the gun aside and used his hand to
smooth out the rest of the rolled sheet, showing more of the
area.

Whatever memory had caused his frown to
deepen suddenly, it had no chance to surface, for in the next
instant young Eduardo, flushed and panting, burst through the door
without bothering to knock.

"Trouble on deck, Cap'n. Master Stubs said
to fetch you and damn the pox."

Gabriel scraped to his feet, nearly tipping
the chair backward. His hands came up off the chart letting the
unweighted side spin back into a tight roll.

His first damning thought had to do with the
threat of mutiny Stubs had warned him about, and although he did
not want to believe it of his crew, he snatched up his pistols and
tucked them into his waist.

"Stay here," he ordered Eva as he strode to
the door. "Throw the bolt and let no one in but me, is that
clear?"

She managed a quick nod before he was gone.
She hurried to the door and slid the iron bolt across, then looked
up at the wooden ceiling as the weight of pounding footsteps on the
deck above sent a glistening flurry of dust motes falling through
the crevices.

~~

Gabriel followed Eduardo up onto the
quarterdeck, half-expecting to see the crew broken out in
fisticuffs. Instead he saw Stubs at the rail, calmly staring
through the spyglass he held to his eye.

"Topman saw 'em. Four ships, low on the
horizon, northeast off the stern."

Dante felt a flush of relief course through
his veins as Eduardo handed him his own glass. "Four ships, you
say?"

"Aye, comin' on fast."

Gabriel snapped his spyglass open and
focussed on the distant horizon. He had to scan the sharp edge of
the sea a moment before he saw them: Four tiny pyramids of white
sail presenting their silhouettes against the blue sky.

"Double-masted," Gabriel murmured, "and
riding high in the water. India guards?"

"Pretty far out of Havany to be a
patrol."

Gabriel nodded grimly. "They could be
hunting."

He looked up at the
Endurance's
sails, which
were barely holding a curve in the light wind.

"Four knots," Stubs supplied, guessing the
next question. "Wind started fallin' off bout an hour ago."

"They have undoubtedly seen us and...yes...
look... two of them are peeling away to come have a look."

"Three," Stubs grunted, noting the third
galleon beginning to turn.

The ships were much smaller
and faster than the
Endurance
and Gabriel knew he could not outrun them, not
with the wind dropping off. He swung the glass forward, searching
the sea ahead. "I don't suppose...?"

"Ha'n't seen the
Rose
since day afore
yesterday. Cap'n Juliet likely 'as her almost at the Cay by
now."

"Another day," Dante muttered. "One more day
of clear sailing was all we needed. How do we stand for shot and
powder?"