Pirate Wolf Trilogy (83 page)

She had
not bothered to do much more than splash her face with cold water
and drink half a pitcher of water straight out of the jug before
descending to the longboat again and rowing across to the
Avenger
. Varian
St. Clare looked just as bleary-eyed as he sat in throbbing silence
beside her, too miserable to do more than grunt when she remarked
that more ships appeared to have arrived through the day, for the
harbor was a forest of masts from one end to the other. It was
either that, or her eyes were not uncrossed yet.

Neither Jonas
nor Gabriel had returned to the ship after their night of drinking,
but Simon Dante met his daughter at the gangway with a cheerful,
totally unaffected smile, despite the fact he had swilled half his
fellow captains under the boards before they swaggered out of the
tent at dawn.

Now she was
standing in that same airless tent, swamped by the stench of sweaty
bodies, old ale, and women who had been on their backs most of the
night. She wore the clothes she had slept in and the velvet was
stifling, the cape kept slipping off her shoulder, strangling her,
and one of the scarlet plumes in her hat drooped annoyingly over
her left eye.

She
adjusted the brim for the tenth time and, instead of thinking about
how much her head hurt, she tried to concentrate on the discussions
that were buzzing around her. Simon Dante had addressed the
captains first, wasting no time on oratory. He gave details of the
letters captured with the
Santo Domingo
, mentioned the various rumors from different sources
concerning the strange numbers of ships in port. At this point,
several captains volunteered their own eye witness accounts of
increased activity along the Main, and when they started to
speculate over the reason, Dante introduced Varian St. Clare, his
grace the Duke of Harrow, come all the way from London with the
explanation and a lucrative offer from the king.

Varian, taking
his cue from the pirate wolf, kept his words to a minimum. His eyes
had more red in them than white and his mouth compressed into a
tight line whenever there was an outburst of noise from the
company, but he won everyone’s attention when he produced the royal
decree that guaranteed complete amnesty to any privateer who was
willing to aid in diverting the Spanish ships. When he added that
the king was further prepared to waive the ten percent tithe due
the crown on each cargo taken as prize, the tables juddered and
shook with the force of the pewter mugs thumping on the boards.

Asked why the
king was being so generous, he did not lie more than was absolutely
necessary. Peace negotiations with Spain had broken down, he said,
and the king of England wanted to strike a blow where Phillip would
bleed the most—in the Spanish treasury.

Privateers were a suspicious, wary lot, and even though
some of them could not read, they all demanded to inspect the royal
Act of Grace, to frown over the embossed wax seal, to tap a
thoughtful finger over the king’s signature. Some put their marks
on the parchment without hesitation after being assured that the
Dantes were committed. Some who had signed private articles of
privateering with two or three of the other captains, were bound by
those articles to discuss all ventures amongst themselves before
voting yay or nay, but it only took a word, whispered in the right
ear, for the estimated value of the
Santo Domingo’s
cargo to sweep through the crowd.

To a man, they
signed and at the end of the meeting, there were thirty-seven
signatures or marks, including the five that represented the Dante
ships. There was still a long night of drinking and more debate
ahead, but by the time the sun finally dipped below the dunes,
Juliet’s head was on the verge of splitting. It was necessary for
Varian to remain and weather the questions thrown out by the
captains, but she moved discreetly to a seam in the canvas walls
and ducked out into the clean night air.

The first thing
she shed was the cape, flinging it away in the sand like a twirling
fan. The hat was next, after which she tore at the fastenings of
her doublet, stripping it off and flinging it over her arm. The
laces on her shirt were next. She parted the cambric almost to her
waist to let her skin breathe, then took a knife to the annoying
ruffles around the collar, casting the lace away in the soft sand
behind her.

She climbed the
dune and followed it to the far end of the beach where the noise
was reduced to a distant hum. Tucked behind a low tumble of rocks
she found a shallow tidal pool, and although the stronger currents
and tall waves were just the other side of a narrow breakwater, the
pool itself was calm, the long, smooth water rippling over the fine
granules of sand.

Dropping her
doublet and hat on the beach, she sat on a rock and removed her
boots, her swordbelt, her pistols. With bare toes curling into the
cool sand, she waded knee deep into the water and just stood there,
her head tilting side to side to work the tension out of her neck,
her hands scooping water to splash on her throat and chest. Out in
the harbor, each ship blazed with lamps hung from the rails and
rigging. The moon would be late, but there were half a hundred
torches flickering along the distant shoreline, and as the sky grew
darker, stars began to appear, singly at first, then in clusters,
glittering like pinpricks through some vast black cloth.

Juliet raised a
hand, tracing a fingertip through the bright stars of a familiar
constellation.

“That would be
Sagittarius, the Archer. A fitting symbol, all things
considered.”

Juliet whirled
around. Anders Van Neuk was stretched out on the sand, his hands
laced behind his neck to support his head, his feet crossed at the
ankles.

A quick glance
told her he was alone. A longer glance, augmented by a silent curse
at her own stupidity, showed that he had placed himself within arms
reach of her clothes, her sword, her guns.

“I caught your
signals, lass, and about time too.”

“What
signals?”

“Toffing your
hat every time I looked at you. You could have just walked up and
grabbed me by the arm—or aught else for that matter—and I’d’ve
followed you just the same. Mind, I’ll admit this is a mite more
romantic, for you look like a nymph freshly risen from the
sea.”

“Anders, it’s
late and I’m very tired. If you thought I was signalling you to
join in some romantic intrigue, you were mistaken. I was merely
itching to get out of that tent.”

“Itching? Aye,
I know the feeling well,” he said quietly. “I’ve had an itch for
you, lass, longer than I can remember. And if you put your teasing
ways aside, you’ll admit you’ve had the same damned itch, one you
almost let me scratch the last time we met.”

Juliet
bit the inside of her lip. She did remember a moment, scant though
it had been, when her curiosity had almost got the better of her.
She had been with Gabriel, and they had recognized the
Dove
at anchor when they passed
French Key. The two ships had put in to barter a portion of their
cargo to the Dutchman in exchange for sheets of copper plating, and
a combination of foolish circumstances had placed the two of them
on deck under the stars with his hands up her shirt and his tongue
halfway down her throat.

“That was a
mistake. We had both been drinking, and—”

“‘Twas no
mistake, lass. You were as hot for me as I was for you. ‘Twas your
brother who interrupted us, plague take him, but it’ll not happen
again. I’ve taken precautions this time to ensure we’ll not be
disturbed.”

He raised a
hand and snapped his finger. Almost immediately, the silhouettes of
four burly men stepped out from behind the rocks and stood with
their arms crossed over their chests, their grins showing through
their beards. Four more appeared on the left and another two came
over the crest of the dune. In all, they formed a protective
semi-circle around the little inlet, leaving no escape other than
the sea.

Stupid,
stupid, stupid to have wandered so far down the beach.

Stupider still
to have unbuckled her sword and guns, leaving her with only her
wits, which were in damned poor shape, yet sobering fast. She was a
strong swimmer. It would be a hellish long pull through the
currents that ripped across the mouth of the harbor, but with luck
she would not be dragged out into the ocean before she had a chance
to pour a few broadsides down the Dutchman’s throat.

No sooner had
the thought passed through her mind than she heard a faint splash
behind her. Before she could react, a thick arm had snaked around
her waist, another around her neck. Juliet twisted around and
thrust two fingers in the direction she though her attacker’s eyes
should be. She hit one, feeling it squish against her fingernail,
but was too far off center and missed the other. Even so, he howled
and loosened his grip enough that she was able to turn and drive a
knee into his groin.

She broke free
and but heard more footsteps splashing through the water. There
were five of them this time, converging on her like mongrels,
laughing, reaching out to grab her arms, her legs, her waist. The
first one to reach her had his nose smashed and the bones driven
into his face by the heel of her hand. The second roared and spun
away, his face cut open by the wedge of coral she swung up from the
sandy bottom. She started to run for deeper water, but someone
snatched her hair from behind and jerked her head back. Someone
else clubbed her temple with a fist, causing an explosion of pain
in her head that made her limbs turn momentarily to jelly.

A moment was
all they needed to lift her out of the water and carry her to
shore. She was squirming and swearing by the time they dragged her
free of the surf, but they only tightened their grip and lowered
her onto the sand like a sacrificial offering. They stretched her
arms out and pinned them flat, they spread her legs impossibly wide
and planted a boot firmly on her hair to keep her head anchored to
the ground.

Anders Van Neuk
stood and brushed the sand off his breeches. He looked down at her,
shaking his head as if he was terribly disappointed in her
behavior.

“We can do this
one of two ways, lass. You can show a little proper enthusiasm, or
you can lie there with all these fine lads watching. Either way,
I’ll be between your thighs and I’ll be enjoying myself.”

“My father, my
brothers will kill you,” she hissed.

“
Aye,
that is a consideration,” he agreed, beginning to unfasten buckles
and belts. “But I figure by the time they start to wonder what’s
happened to you, you’ll be tucked up safe and sound on board
the
Dove
and we’ll
be under way.”

“They’ll come
after you. They’ll hunt you down like a dog and flay the skin from
your body strip by strip.”

“It’s your own
skin you should be worrying about now, lass, and how much of it
will be left when the Spaniard finishes with you.”

“Spaniard? What
Spaniard?”

“
Ah, now,
there’s the beauty, you see, in flying the Dutch flag. Happens I
was in Porto de Manati not four days ago when a shipload of
Spaniards came in, rescued off some small hillock of sand in the
middle of nowhere. One of them was a real handsome fellow, no ears,
no manners to speak of but then show me a papist who does. At any
rate, it seems he lost his ears on the
Santo Domingo
and was most anxious to make the
acquaintance of
la rosa de hierro
again. So anxious, he’s offered to give the man who brings
you back to him ten times his weight in gold—which in my case, is
considerable, you will admit.”

“You would sell
me to a bloody Spaniard for gold!”

“If it was just
the gold, lass, I’d sell you back to your father for the same
amount. But the thing of it is, the Spaniard is also offering a Let
Pass, good for as long as we sail these waters, giving us the right
to trade in any port, purchase any cargo, take away as much profit
as we can carry in our holds. I grant you, it takes away the fun of
blasting the bloody papists out of the water, but it saves my guns
and my ships, and it will make me a rich, rich man. In truth,” he
added, “it was my intention just to tap you on the head and take
you back to Porto de Manati trussed up like a guinea fowl, but...”
he paused again and the hard green eyes roved down her body. “You
look such a tempting morsel all wet and shiny, I’m of a mind I
should sample the wares first... just to make sure it’s worth all
the trouble.”

His hands went
to his waist and began to unfasten the leather thongs that bound
his codpiece. Juliet twisted and writhed, she swore and spat, but
on a word from Van Neuk, the hands clamped around her wrists and
ankles tightened like iron shackles. A grunt warned her he was free
of his breeches, and Juliet cursed again when she saw him drop onto
his knees. His flesh was thick, jutting out at the base of his
belly like a wooden club, and as he worked the skin back with one
hand, he tore open her shirt and reached for her breasts with the
other. His nails were long and ragged, the palms tough as leather
and she had to clench her jaws to keep from screaming as he
scratched and kneaded and nearly clawed her nipples off her
body.

His men started
to make lewd suggestions. One offered to hold her mouth open if he
wanted to give her a taste of what was to come, another offered to
shut it with his fists to spare them all the steady stream of oaths
and curses she spat at them. The Dutchman merely slapped her hard
across the cheek to silence her, then took a sharp dagger to the
inseam of her breeches. The point sliced her twice where her
squirming forced the knife to cut more than the cloth, but he was
not deterred. His fingers probed her crotch and the knife was
starting down the other leg when the sound of steel striking steel
broke his concentration and he turned to search out the cause.