Destiny's Captive, Page 2

  She turned to the portly man who’d once been her mother’s novio. She didn’t return his smile.

  “That disguise is so dramatic, but your family was always known for their . . . theatrics.”

  She ignored the dig. She also kept to herself how utterly ridiculous he looked in the white powder he wore in a failing attempt to mask the dark skin passed down to him by his enslaved African grandmother. “Why did you wish to see me?”

  He walked over to the desk and took a seat in the red upholstered chair, which resembled a throne. “Have you no time for pleasantries? How is your beautiful mother? And your sister and aunts?”

  She folded her arms and waited.

  “Ah, always the rebellious one. That will be your downfall one day, let’s hope it isn’t soon.”

  She ignored that as well.

  “The reason I invited you to my humble home was to welcome you to the city and to inquire as to why you’re here.”

  “And if I say it is not your affair?”

  “I’m sure my man gave you my message just as he gave me yours. Why are you in Havana, Pilar?”

  “On business for the general.” She saw him take that in and try and determine just how far to push.

  “Ah the illustrious general. Is he still in hiding and licking his wounds, in, Bolivia, is it?” He opened a small elaborately decorated tin box sitting on the desk and took out a chocolate that he popped into his mouth. “Would you like one?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He sat back and studied her momentarily. “General Maceo would be better served by concentrating on farming, as he was raised to do. He and his Mambi hordes know nothing about running a country as advanced as Cuba. During the Ten Years’ War the crown proved that they knew very little about fighting as well.” And he laughed.

  The Mambis were the members of General Maceo’s army. More than eighty percent were of African-Cuban descent. They took their name from Eutimio Mambi who’d successfully fought the Spanish in Santo Domingo.

  “Are we done?”

  “Again, why are you here?”

  “Again, not your concern, but to ease your fears, it has nothing to do with you or your enterprises.”

  “I want you out of Havana.”

  “As soon as I’ve accomplished my goal, I’ll take your desires into consideration.”

  “You know, had your mother chosen me instead of your wastrel father, you’d be my daughter, and you’d both be living in Havana, enjoying a rich, full life instead of starving in the rat mazes of Santiago with the rest of the vermin there.”

  “How did it feel when she didn’t show up at the church on your wedding day?”

  “Get out!”

  “Gladly.”

  Tomas was outside, waiting atop a wagon, just as she knew he would be.

  “What did he want?” he asked as she climbed up to the seat.

  “Other than trying to determine the general’s whereabouts and slurring my parents, nothing.”

  “Bastard.”

  Gordonez was that and more. His lies had sent her father to the gallows. She swallowed her hate. “Forget him. Let’s go steal a ship.”

  Chapter 2

  On board the Alanza in the small quarters belowdecks that served as Noah’s office and bedroom, he and Kingston prepared to part company. Kingston would be journeying by ferry to Florida to take the train up the East Coast to rendezvous with his wife and son now residing in Boston. Noah would be raising anchor in the morning to head home to California to attend his mother’s wedding. A decade had passed since Simmons led the two men away from the island prison camp. Due to that shared experience they were as close as brothers. The articles they’d signed bound them to the heinous captain for two long years, but once free they’d formed Yates and Howard Imports and amassed a small fortune selling merchandise from all corners of the world.

  “How long do you plan to stay in California?” Kingston asked.

  Noah shrugged. “I’m not certain. I find I can only stomach being on land a short while, but I am anxious to see my family. I’ll wire you if I get antsy.”

  The smile on King’s face made Noah ask, “What’s so humorous?”

  “That old woman and her fish. Just thinking back on her touting its, uh, qualities.”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “At her age I doubt she can even remember what it was like to be in a man’s bed.”

  “Speaking of which, what did you think of Senorita Bernita Mendoza?”

  “She’s lovely as a sunrise but has the brains of a barnacle.”

  Kingston laughed.

  “I think my mother may have given her parents the impression that I was seeking a bride.” The family was distantly related to his mother and had recently settled in Cuba after fleeing the war and upheaval in Santo Domingo.

  “But you aren’t.”

  “Of course not. The sea is my mistress and doesn’t bore me with talks of gossip and gowns, which is all the girl talked about last night.”

  “You need a wife to bring light into that dark soul of yours.”

  “I like my dark soul but if you find me a woman willing to live on the sea, I may consider changing my stance.”

  “I’ll see if one can be found. What are your plans this evening?”

  “I foolishly agreed to escort Bernita to the opera. After that I’ll come back here and prepare to sail for home.”

  “Fine. Then, I’ll take my leave now.”

  The two men shared a brotherly embrace.

  “Godspeed, Noah.”

  “And to you as well. My regards to your wife and son.”

  Kingston departed, leaving Noah alone.

  Noah walked up the short stairway that led above deck and stood looking out over the congested harbor. He couldn’t wait to weigh anchor and feel the roll of the waves beneath the Alanza and the wind in his face. He and a skeleton crew would sail west to Brownsville, Texas, and dock the boat at a shipyard he’d used in the past. The men would make their way to their homes and he’d take the train to San Francisco with the hopes of arriving in plenty of time for his mother’s wedding so he could walk her down the aisle. After his father Abraham’s death, she’d raised Noah and his brothers alone. It was time she found love for herself, and he considered Max Rudd, an old family friend, to be a perfect match for the strong-willed matriarch. It had been almost a year since he’d seen his family. On his last visit to Destino, the ranch where they’d all grown up, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find his oldest brother, Logan, married to a feisty golden-eyed seamstress from Philadelphia named Mariah. Since that time, they’d presented his mother with her first grandchild, a baby girl named Maria, who, he’d learned by correspondence, had inherited her mother’s golden eyes. Even more surprising was the recent letter from his mother informing him that his second eldest brother, lawyer Andrew, was now married as well. Drew, who everyone believed would spend the rest of his years sowing his wild oats from the Bay to Mexico, married? The thought of that made him smile. He couldn’t wait to meet the woman who finally saddled him. Noah was glad his brothers had also found love and in a small way envied them their happiness, but he had no intentions of marrying because he enjoyed his solitary seafaring life and he doubted any woman would willingly embrace what King called his black soul. The optimistic, carefree young man he’d been lay buried beneath the experiences set into motion by Captain Alfred Simmons. He wore the darkness left behind like a heavy winter coat and it hampered his ability to reclaim the joy he’d once found in life. Although he’d never admit it to anyone, he had vivid nightmares about those terrible months on the island. Still. They’d tapered off somewhat in the past few years, but not enough to declare himself free of the nocturnal terror that made him bolt awake, shaking and drenched in cold fear-fed sweat. Yet another reason he eschewed taking a wife.

  “We’re going ashore, Captain. See you at dawn.”

  It was one of the mates, the red-haired Irishman Henry Dennison. With him were the other crewmen who
’d be making the sail back to the States.

  “Enjoy the ladies,” Noah told them, knowing where they were headed this last night in Cuba.

  Henry returned wryly, “Oh we will.”

  After their departure, Noah went below to read and rest up for his evening at the opera with Bernita “the Barnacle” Mendoza.

  Bernita leaned over in her seat and whispered, “By the scowl on your face one would think you’re not having good time.”

  “One would be correct.”

  Not even the theater’s darkness could mask the shock on her lovely face.

  “I’m just being truthful,” he informed her.

  She huffed around and fanned herself angrily.

  It was difficult to be pleasant when her need to change gowns—twice—had made them arrive at the opera house so late they’d been denied entrance to the performance until the first intermission. Onstage the caterwauling woman attempting to pass herself off as Bizet’s Carmen was making the long evening in her company even more exasperating. Behind him Bernita’s duenna was snoring loudly enough to be heard over the orchestra.

  “Then at the next intermission I demand you take me home.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The fan moved faster. “You are no gentleman.”

  “I agree.”

  True to his word they left during the intermission and after the hired coach was brought around, Noah saw the ladies home. He stepped inside to say good night to Bernita’s parents, who glanced between the silent American and their furious daughter with confusion.

  Noah lied: “I wasn’t feeling well and Bernita was gracious enough to allow me to return her home early.”

  She scoffed derisively.

  Her parents’ eyes widened.

  Deciding further explanation was unwarranted, he bowed and made his exit. Outside, he descended the stone stairs and undid the tie at his throat. Feeling much more relaxed, he crossed to the waiting coach. As his hand grasped the handle, suddenly something pointed and sharp was pressed hard against his spine. He froze.

  A pleasant-sounding female voice instructed, “Please stand still, Mr. Yates. This rapier in your back has tasted men’s blood for fifty years. I’d hate to add your name to the list.”

  Noah didn’t move. “If you want my wallet it’s in my coat.”

  “We’re not petty thieves. Climb into the coach, please.”

  Havana, with all its gaiety and vices, was a dangerous place, and beneath his coat was a holstered pistol, but the chances of getting off a shot before the woman ran the rapier through his liver were slim. Two men stepped out of the darkness and flanked him. Both had their faces hidden beneath bandanas and were carrying machetes—Cuba’s weapon of choice. He chose to follow orders.

  The door was opened.

  “Slowly, now,” she cautioned.

  He complied. As he stooped to enter, the sight of the two men occupying one of the benches made him pause. Now, there were at least five of them and only one of him. Six, when he counted the driver, who he assumed was part of their gang. The rapier was still pressed dangerously against his spine. The man on Noah’s left reached into his coat and pulled the pistol free of the leather holster. “Please take the seat next to my friend by the window,” the woman ordered.

  Again he did as he was told. After she and her masked companions were seated, the coach pulled away.

  Sandwiched between the two men on his bench and facing the two men and the caped woman seated opposite him, Noah asked, “If you’re not after my gold, what do you want? My life?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  No response.

  That he might be shanghaied again began to play on his nerves and he swore he’d find a way to kill them before being forced into servitude again. “Who are you?”

  Again, no response.

  Filled with frustration, he wished he could see her more clearly. He wanted to be able to give the authorities a credible description should he somehow manage to escape, but her hood and the coach’s shadowy interior hid her face and the voluminous folds of her black cape negated his ability to accurately gauge her size or weight. He had no problem seeing the rapier, however. She held it at rest across her lap and the silver glittered malevolently as the open windows caught the light of the passing lamps as the coach sped by.

  After a short passage of time, the tang of seawater drifted to his nose. He turned his head to try and gauge his location but the partial view from the window offered only the blackness of night. The coach slowed and then stopped. He heard the sound of waves nearby.

  “We’re all going to step out now, Mr. Yates. No sudden moves or shows of bravado you Americans are so famous for. There are six of us and only one of you. We’d hate to have to shoot you with your own gun.”

  Noah didn’t want to be shot with his own gun either, yet every fiber of his being demanded he take some action to change the odds. He had no idea whether she’d lied about taking his life, but in truth they’d already had the opportunity to do so, so what was this about? His curiosity was high but in order to get answers he had to play along, at least for the moment.

  The coach’s door opened. The woman and the men seated with her stepped out first, followed by the man to his right. The man to his left stuck the nose of the gun in his side and prodded him to follow. He moved to the door and as he stooped to exit, two thunderous blows exploded across the back of his head and he pitched forward. It was the last thing he remembered.

  Chapter 3

  “The next time, can we pick a much smaller man? Dios, he’s heavy,” Tomas groused. He and Eduardo held the unconscious American between them with his lifeless arms slung over their shoulders. The toes of his expensive boots dragged on the surface of the worn dock. There weren’t many people about. The vendors with true homes were gone for the day, while those who used their stands as their abodes were huddled in the shadows. A few orphans played in the moonlight and on the dark water, a few lights could be seen shining within some of the ships filling the harbor.

  “Halt!”

  Three soldiers out on patrol. Pilar had planned for this possibility, so she and the others stopped and waited for them to approach.

  “What’s going on here?” one of the soldiers asked.

  Pilar pulled back her hood to reveal her aged face and replied in her crone’s voice, “Drunk American. We’re taking him back to his ship.”

  The soldiers surveyed them. “He have any identification?”

  “He has ship’s papers and a passport in his coat.”

  The soldier rifled through his clothes and extracted the items, along with his billfold. It was nearly impossible to read by the light of the moon but he attempted to do so. “And you found him where?”

  Glad she’d had the forethought to remove Yates’s holster, Pilar explained, “My bordello. Stupid American couldn’t handle the girls or the rum.”

  The soldier shook his head as though sharing her disdain. American attempts to annex Cuba went back to the time of President Thomas Jefferson. Spain hated the United States as much as the Cubans hated Spain.

  “You know which boat is his?”

  Grimacing beneath the American’s weight, Tomas managed to say, “Yes. I’m her son and a fisherman. Made his acquaintance this afternoon. Rowed him out some of my catch.”

  As if weighing their story, the soldier in charge eyed them for a long moment, then looked to his two companions. They replied with shrugs. After helping himself to the money in Yates’s billfold, he handed it back, along with the passport and papers, and dismissed them with a wave. “Go.”

  Pilar righted her hood and she and her companions continued on.

  Under the light cast by the full moon, Pilar and her friends raised the anchor and slowly sailed out into open water. Yates was secured in his room belowdecks and would probably awaken soon, but for the moment, she stood at the bow and momentarily let go of her immediate worries to enjoy the journey. She’d been born at sea t
wenty-five years ago and she loved being out on the ocean. Her first voyages had been with her paternal grandfather, who traced his lineage back to the corsairs of North Africa’s Barbary Coast. Part pirate, part smuggler, he’d loved thumbing his nose at the European navies almost as much as he’d loved her and her sister Doneta. When Pilar was ten years old, he’d lost his life aboard a ship during a hurricane, after which, her father, Javier, took up the family mantle. He too had lived outside the law, providing well for his wife and daughters by smuggling everything from guns and fake paintings to antiquities and rum. When the Ten Years’ War began, in 1868, he’d declined to participate because it hadn’t mattered to him who ruled the island of Cuba as long as nothing interfered with his clandestine endeavors. But when his three brothers joined the rebel army and were subsequently hanged for their participation, he fervently embraced the cause in order to avenge them, only to forfeit his own life during the war’s closing years.

  Now, she, her mother, sister, aunts, and cousins were a female coven of smugglers, counterfeiters, and forgers united by skill, blood, and a deep abiding hatred for Spain.

  “Pilar. He’s coming around.” It was Eduardo.

  Giving the moon-laced water one last look, she headed below to check on their host.

  Noah came to, groggy and disoriented, in a dimly lit space. He was vaguely aware of lying on his back but there was nothing vague about the way his head ached. It throbbed like he’d been kicked by a horse wearing anvils. He tried to sit up. Realizing he was restrained immediately plunged him into panic and he struggled against the bonds while the nightmare of being chained in Captain Simmons’s ship rose and took hold. A second or two later he saw that he was in his cabin and relaxed somewhat, until he remembered his abduction and fury followed; fury aimed at himself for being still susceptible to his inner fears and fury at his captors for evoking the response. He was spread-eagled atop his four-poster bed, tied by his wrists and ankles. His angry attempts to loosen the bonds were in vain. The intricate knots in the ropes had been fashioned tightly and well.