Wind Raven (Agents of the Crown) Read online

  The blond pirate faced Tara, his voice suddenly gentle. “Ven aqui, mí cariño.” Wiping his axe blade on his pants and slipping the instrument of death into the sash at his waist, he extended his hand to her. Tara didn’t need to understand Spanish to know he was calling her to him; it was in his eyes. His startling blue gaze was more frightening than the bloody axe he had sheathed. She did not move, only stared, frozen with fear.

  “Come to me, sweetheart,” he said in English, “I will not harm you.”

  Chapter 13

  Cofresí stood on the quarterdeck of the English ship watching the girl as she walked to the prow, her arms wrapped tightly around her as she faced away from him. Her golden hair reflected the sun’s rays like some mythical being, drawing him to her. He knew from her voice she was American, perhaps one who had longed for liberty as much as he did. He had admired her bravery when, unafraid of his men, she had fought to be free. From the moment he first saw her, he wanted her, his desire an immediate, tangible thing.

  For some time, he had thought he should take a wife. His older brothers expected him to marry. Disappointed with his maritime activities, and abhorring his piracy, they hoped if he were to wed, he would settle down, leaving behind his days at sea.

  He would not marry any of the cantina girls in Cabo Rojo who freely offered themselves to him, nor one of the village girls whose eager mamas shoved them toward him. And none of the docile daughters of the distinguished European families with whom he’d been raised appealed to him. No, he must have a woman with a strong will to match his own, a woman of courage, a woman of passion. Perhaps this golden-haired girl was the one for whom he’d been searching.

  But why was she aboard the English merchantman? Was she Captain Powell’s woman?

  Roberto vowed to discover the truth. Soon he would know all her secrets. If it was as he hoped, she might be the one. For someone like her, he could almost imagine setting aside his pursuit of vengeance and leaving the sea as his brothers desired. He could still fight for his island country’s independence and assist the cause of his friend Simón Bolívar in Venezuela. And he would have a woman of his own at home to raise his sons.

  More than an hour passed before the Retribución sailed into Boquerón Bay to be joined to the English ship. As soon as the plank was in place, Portalatin crossed and came to Roberto.

  “Capitán,” said Portalatin, “the English captain made a visit to the Retribución before returning to his ship. They spiked our guns and put the crew into the hold.”

  “Hmm,” Roberto was both angry and amused, “so that is where the English captain was while we were attacking his ship. Ah well, Captain Powell will pay with his life. Were any killed?”

  “Enriquez. Juan was wounded but he will live.”

  Roberto paused to remember Enriquez, the man who had served him from his early days as a pirate. With a resigned sigh, he said, “I suppose I should not be surprised that Powell was seeking my ship while I was taking his. It is the way of things. I am grateful he did not choose to sink her. That would be most inconvenient.”

  He paused to consider what next to do. He had intended the English ship for his compatriot in Venezuela. “We cannot very well send a ship lacking guns to our friend in South America, now can we?”

  Portalatin shook his head in agreement.

  “Leave the guns on the English ship. We will have to replace those on the Retribución. Perhaps some made with bronze this time, eh, Portalatin? The ones on that small Dutch ship we took a few days ago should serve well. It sustained damage but the guns are in tact. Once you remove them you can sink her. Go ashore and make the arrangements. While you are gone, Manuel can see to the transfer of the English cargo and clean whatever blood is on the deck of my ship. When you return, you can hold the English ship for me.”

  “Sí, Capitán. Will you leave the Retribución here for the night?”

  “No. I have plans for the beautiful señorita. I will take my ship and return tomorrow so you can install the new guns. Look for me at midday.”

  Once Roberto’s men had transferred the cargo from the English ship to the hold of their schooner and washed the Retribución’s deck of blood, Roberto crossed to his ship to bathe and don fresh clothes. He had decided to take the rest of the day and the coming night to become acquainted with the golden American girl. There was much he wanted to know.

  When he returned to the English ship some time later, Roberto found the girl standing in the stern, as if trying to remove herself as far from his men as possible. She had been allowed to clean herself and don a fresh gown. Though he had ordered she be given her freedom on deck, she was not allowed to remain below. He did not want her to feel like a prisoner, but he could not have her interfering with his decisions concerning the English captain and his crew.

  She watched him as he approached, her gaze steady, her stance proud and unbending. “You are well?” he inquired.

  “Well enough,” she said, defiance in her eyes, the same eyes he’d noticed earlier were the color of Boquerón Bay.

  “Bien. There is a place I wish to show you. So you will come to my ship, cariño, and while we dine, you will tell me who you are and why you were aboard an English ship.”

  * * *

  Tara had been biting her knuckles, worrying over the Wind Raven’s captain and crew. But try as she might, she could not see a way to help them at present. She needed to buy some time till she could steal a weapon to help them escape. The captain could not die at the pirate’s hand.

  She supposed it would make no difference to the pirate captain if she did not wish to comply with his instructions, so she said nothing when he informed her she’d be coming to his ship. After all, there was little she could do to thwart him, at least for now.

  Hoping she could believe the pirate when he said he would not harm her, she followed him to his schooner. His Porto Rican crew, much darker in coloring than their captain, looked on, scrutinizing her every move with curious eyes. She, too, was curious—about their captain. How had a blond European who spoke with the cultured voice of an educated man become a ruthless pirate?

  By the time he collected her from the deck of the Wind Raven, he had rid himself of all traces of blood. It was midday and the sun was now high in the sky. The air was warm and sultry, though an occasional welcome breeze stirred the wisps of hair around her face. In the time since he had disappeared onto his ship, the pirate captain had attired himself more in keeping with his speech, returning to the Wind Raven wearing dark blue breeches, black boots and a white shirt open at the neck. His blond hair was reined into a queue at his nape.

  As they entered his cabin, he took a dark blue jacket from the back of his desk chair and threw it around his shoulders. Though he looked like a gentleman, she knew he was not. Unlike Captain Powell’s warm golden eyes, there was no mercy in the pirate’s steely blue gaze.

  Tara’s trunk and valise lay on the deck of the pirate’s cabin. Seeing them gave her chills. It did not appear he intended to return her to the Wind Raven, but then the pirate’s plans for Nicholas Powell spoke only of death.

  Quickly glancing around her, Tara noted his cabin was furnished more sparingly than that of Captain Powell, and it was smaller and more cave-like. Still, it contained the things she’d expected to see: a desk, table and chairs, and a shelf bed set against the bulkhead. It was neat and clean, but it lacked the higher ceiling of Captain Powell’s elegant cabin and it lacked his many books. The thought occurred to her the pirate likely didn’t spend much time on his ship. His home was on shore and probably not far.

  “I have forgotten my manners, mi cariño. We have not been properly introduced. I am Roberto Cofresí y Ramírez de Arellano.” He bowed with his left arm stretched to the side and his right arm across his waist. The wound in his arm did not appear to be paining him much or he hid it well. At her raised brow, he added with a smile, “Many in Porto Rico call me Cofresí, and my men call me Capitán, but you may call me Roberto.”

 
; Tara said nothing.

  Her reticence to engage in conversation seemed to amuse him. “And you would be?” he asked with a smile.

  “Tara McConnell. But you may call me Miss McConnell.”

  The pirate captain chuckled and she knew in that moment that he had already decided that no matter her wishes he would call her whatever he liked.

  “What do you intend to do with Captain Powell and his crew?” It was the most pressing thought in her mind.

  He sat with one hip on the edge of his desk as he studied her in a long appreciative look. In a very matter-of-fact voice, he said, “Captain Powell will die for unnecessarily taking the life of one of my men. Others may have died in the fight but Tomas died for nothing. Still, I did not wish to distress you, so I waited.” He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “It can be done in the morning.” She opened her mouth to protest, and as if to anticipate her, he said, “I would have disciplined my man for his rough handling of you. And though I must apologize for Tomas’s bad manners, he would not have hurt you. His death was unwarranted. Each man in my crew knows not to harm a woman on a ship I have taken as a prize.”

  “You are a pirate! Captain Powell could not have known I would remain unharmed when that…that boar was mauling me and would not let me go. Surely you see that?”

  “I see you defend the English captain. Are you his woman?” His blue eyes bore into hers and Tara realized he considered the question of great importance.

  “Certainly not. I am merely his passenger.” She looked down at the deck, not wanting the pirate to see the desperation in her eyes, to see how much she cared about the fate of Nicholas Powell. “It is just that I do not wish to see him die for defending my honor.”

  “I see. It is good you do not belong to him. But he will die all the same.”

  The possibility of Nicholas Powell dying at the pirate’s hands chilled Tara to the bone. Trying not to think of such an occurrence, and not wanting to convey all she felt for the Englishman, she forced herself to ask, “What about Captain Powell’s crew?”

  The pirate captain rose from the desk, walked to a small wooden table set against the bulkhead and poured a deep amber liquid from a wide-bottomed carafe. “May I pour you some Madeira?”

  “No, thank you.” Concerned she might anger the pirate, she added, “Perhaps later.”

  “To answer your question, they will live. I will sell them as slaves to serve on other ships.”

  With a sharp lurch, Tara felt the ship move beneath her feet. They were underway. “Where are we going?”

  “As I told you, I have a place I wish you to see. We sail south and east around the end of the island to one of our bays that glows in the night. You have not seen it before?”

  “No.” Tara could not recall having seen such a bay.

  “Then I have chosen well, for it is a beautiful sight, and I would share it with you.” Tara had no desire to sail anywhere with the pirate, but she needed time to think of what to do to help the Wind Raven’s captain and his men. Perhaps she could buy them some time.

  “You will not do anything tonight with Captain Powell or his crew?”

  He took a sip of the wine and set down his glass, then slowly walked to her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as he neared, afraid of what such a man might do, aware they were alone in his cabin. She would be powerless to stop him. But when he reached her, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “No. Tonight I intend only to enjoy your company, Tara—mi cariño.”

  Though he appeared a gracious host, Tara wondered if he were perhaps insane. She was acutely aware she was Cofresí’s prisoner, held on his ship and sailing toward some bay where the waters glowed. Apparently he thought it a small matter he’d been dripping in blood only hours before.

  He had allowed her run of the deck as they sailed and she was grateful. The wind off the water cooled her fevered brow and sharpened her wits as she pondered her next steps.

  They sailed past jagged cliffs covered with sparse green vegetation rising from turquoise waters, the pirate crew watching her from the deck and the rigging. Despite her situation and the looming question of what might lay ahead for her and the Raven’s crew, Tara could not deny the beauty of the island the pirate called home.

  As evening settled around them, he bid her to enter his cabin once again and to sit at his table, where one of his men served a simple meal of fragrant stew. She looked down at the bowl placed before her to see a tomato sauce filled with all manner of shellfish. The spicy aroma wafting to her nostrils told her the meal would be delicious, but Tara was too worried about Captain Powell and his crew to do more than dip her spoon in the stew.

  Another dish arrived. Cofresí called it mofongo, a mash of plantains, garlic and oil cooked with spices.

  Tara had no desire for food.

  As the pirate captain ate, his appetite seemingly unaffected by the day’s events, he spoke of his home and his family, as if he wanted her to know him. He had an older sister he spoke of in gentled tones, in contrast to his comments about his older brothers. Tara could not think of the pirate as having a family.

  The light from the lantern reflected off the silver and black earrings that dangled from his ears as he spoke. She had noticed them before when she’d first seen him on the deck of the Wind Raven, but now, seeing them close, she observed they were round in shape with four points, like bejeweled compasses, each set with a large faceted crystal. Tara thought the stones might be diamonds, so great was their sparkle. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if he wore them as a vain decoration or a distraction for his victims. Perhaps it was both.

  Though beautiful, the jewelry did not render him feminine. Instead the earrings made him seem all the more the pirate. Despite what she suspected was a proper upbringing, he had chosen to act the renegade. His orders to kill, given with confidence and void of remorse, would be quickly obeyed.

  “You are not eating, cariño,” Cofresí said, setting down his spoon. “You will need your strength for the days ahead. Eat, por favor.”

  Tara looked up at what she had to admit was a handsome and very masculine face with strong cheekbones and a high forehead. Could such a man be deranged? She dipped her spoon into the bowl set before her. Lifting the spoonful of stew, she held it in front of her mouth for a moment, and then dropped it back into the bowl.

  “Surely you must realize that under the circumstances I have no appetite.” How could he expect her to eat when the deck of the Wind Raven was coated with blood and the life of her captain, the man who now held her heart, was threatened with death? “I am worried about the men of the Wind Raven, and for that matter, what is to become of me?”

  “Tonight you shall not worry,” he commanded in his deep melodious voice, as if he expected his orders to always be obeyed. And she supposed they were. “For tonight, there is only my ship and the sea and the stars.” Tara felt the ship slowing and heard one of his men on deck shouting orders in Spanish. She assumed it was an order to douse sail. Perhaps they had reached their destination.

  Wiping his mouth with a napkin and downing the last of his wine, Cofresí rose and offered his hand. “Come. I will show you a most mysterious sight and you can tell me more about how you, an American, came to be on board an English ship.”

  They arrived on deck as his men were furling the sails and setting the anchor. Tara scanned her surroundings. They had entered a bay. The muted shades of scarlet and purple in the fading sunset were quickly giving way to a darkened sky as the stars emerged above them. Slowly they walked the length of his schooner as he told her of his youth. She did not want to hear about the lad who loved the sea, who defied his father and older brothers to sail his first small boat. It reminded her too much of her own youth.

  When the sky was a midnight blue, Cofresí uttered something to one of his men, then led her to the rail and pointed to the anchor chain. It was pulled taut, a dark shadow. Around the chain where it entered the water was a circle of blue
-green light radiating out in all directions. Cofresí picked up a small piece of wood on the deck and tossed it over the side. At the sound of the splash, there was a flash of the same blue light, its rays spreading out in all directions from where the object had plunged into the water.

  Gazing into the distance, she could see the small waves rushing to shore erupting into sparking points of blue light as they encountered the sand. It was, as Cofresí had said, a mysterious yet most magnificent sight. And for a moment, it distracted her. The entire bay was alive with glowing blue color patterns, fluctuating with the disturbance in the waters. The shimmering blue color reminded her of the ring Nicholas Powell wore on his little finger, as if the stone had captured the same light. Suddenly her mind was back with the captain and his crew. How were they faring?

  “Is it not romantic, our Porto Rican phenomenon?” the pirate captain asked. When she nodded, he elaborated. “We have three such bays in different parts of the island. Always there is a mangrove swamp nearby.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I wanted to share it with you.”

  His touch disturbed her. His knowledge and his educated manner of speech impressed her. He spoke English with ease and only a slight accent. At times his speech flowed in and out of Spanish with his men, as if both languages were frequently crossed in his thoughts. It would not surprise her to learn he spoke other languages as well. Facing him, she said, “Tell me, how it is you, being a pirate, are so well spoken.” Tara would remind him he acted the pirate; she did not want the magic of the glowing blue waters or the stories of his family and his youth to allow her to forget who he was, what he had done or what he planned to do with Captain Powell and his men.

  “You are surprised that I am so learned? Do not be. My father was born of an aristocratic family in Austria and came to Porto Rico from Spain as a man of some wealth. He changed our family name of Von Kupferschein to Cofresí because it was easier for the Spanish to pronounce. My mother, who was of a similar family, died when I was a small child, but my father saw that my two older brothers and I attended a private school where we were taught languages, literature, geography and arithmetic.”