Captive Secrets (27 page)

The town whores at the soiree! Fury felt light-headed. Father Sebastian had said Naula was the prettiest of Clarice's girls. Certainly she would be at the soiree on the arm of one of the governors. The idea of Clarice's girls at the party was so outrageous, Fury found herself laughing.

“I can't imagine what protocol is in a matter such as this,” she sputtered, wiping her eyes. “Does one acknowledge them? No doubt the governors will expect a certain amount of . . . camaraderie among the women! My God, Juli, I never would have believed this. Perhaps there's no need for us to stop by the parish house now—undoubtedly Father Sebastian will be attending the soiree himself, if for no other reason than to keep the guests from tearing one another apart!”

 

While the two women laughed about Father Sebastian's role at the soiree, the good
padre
himself was finding nothing amusing in the situation, although he knew he could perform his duties as long as he kept his gaze lowered. However, it wasn't the evening's festivities that bothered him, but the letter he held in his hand.

The words on the stiff, crackly parchment were already committed to memory, but still he opened the letter and read it again, fingering the heavy gold seal that identified to the reader, as surely as the cramped, narrow script and ponderous signature, the source of the correspondence. The elderly priest was sorry that he'd petitioned the archbishop himself to grant Fury entrance to the convent. That permission had now been granted, thanks to his pleas-temporary entrance two weeks from Sunday.

Sighing, he slid the letter between the pages of his Bible and plodded wearily into the kitchen. Why couldn't he have left well enough alone? Now he would have to tell Furana ... and he didn't want to.

“Say the rosary, say the rosary,” came a squawk from the kitchen windowsill. “Pray for the living, pray for the dead. Sins are the devil's work, oh, yes, oh, yes, pray-praypray!”

“Shut up,” the priest grumbled, glaring up at the brightly plumed caged parrot. A moment later he hurried off as a knock sounded at his front door.

It was Furana and her housekeeper. Father Sebastian's eyes flew to his Bible. Not today; he couldn't tell her today. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after. “Lies are sinful, lies are sinful!” the parrot screeched as the priest opened the door.

“What a wonderful surprise,” Father Sebastian said hoarsely. “Thank you,” he said, taking a basket of food from Juli. “I'll just take this inside.” He made his way down the hallway to the kitchen, where he immediately threw a rag over the parrot's cage.

“Death to all sinners!” shrieked the bird before darkness descended.

“Tea, ladies?” the priest asked, returning to the parlor.

“No, Father, we stopped only to deliver this basket. We're on our way to Mevrouw von Klausner's house for the soiree this evening. I trust you will be there to give the opening blessing,” Fury said, biting her lips to keep from laughing.

“Yes. I was rather surprised, but then, I am the only religious in town at this time. Tonight is . . . uh, rather unusual, but they—the governors, that is—have asked me specifically . . . and they have been most kind to many of my poor, unfortunate parishioners. . . .”

“Will Señor Domingo be in attendance?” Juli asked, rescuing the poor man from his obvious discomfort.

“Why, yes, I believe so. He was in port yesterday. I'm sure he will be there. Nau—uh, he needs some respite, as do most men.”

Fury took pity on the priest. “Perhaps you shouldn't attend. I know it's going to be difficult for you. I could explain to Mevrouw von Klausner that you aren't feeling well.”

Father Sebastian smiled warmly. “It's kind of you, Furana, but I'll be fine. You ladies had best run along now. I know how much time it takes for you to prepare yourselves for these occasions.”

“Thank you, Father. Rest now, we can see ourselves out. And Father,” Fury called over her shoulder, “I know your blessing will be appreciated by ... everyone.”

“Poor dear,” she murmured as they made their way to the von Klausner house at the end of the street. “He's so torn between what is right and wrong. He will suffer torments over this.” She giggled.

“We're going to be the first to arrive,” Juli grumbled. “Your mother always said it was fashionable to be late, and people pay more attention when you're the last to arrive. Our timing is . . . inadequate.”

Fury shrugged. “Even if we're the first to arrive, I can make sure I am the last to be announced. It makes no difference.”
He's going to be here,
she thought, heart pounding.
I'll see him again.

Excitement coursed through Fury as a clutch of djongos carried their small satchels and escorted them to their assigned rooms.

“Missy wish bath?” the djongo queried.

“Yes.” Juli nodded briskly as she set about laying Fury's clothing on the bed. “Quickly, quickly.” She frowned as the djongo minced his way out the door.

Fury's transformation was about to begin.

 

Every nerve in Luis Domingo's body quivered with exasperation at his circumstances. Here he was sitting aboard the
Silver Lady
smoking a cigar like one of Batavia's fat merchants instead of sailing the sea searching for the Sea Siren. He had Dykstra and the brood of governors from Amsterdam to thank for his idleness. Thanks to Dykstra, he would also be attending the soiree at the von Klausner house, an affair he wasn't looking forward to. He wasn't in the mood to salivate over coy woman and dominating mothers who thought him a good catch for their aging daughters. Of course he could have refused the invitation and sailed on the early tide, but he hadn't. The Dutch East India Company had hired him, and in their employ he would do as instructed.

Luis's stance, as he leaned against the mainmast, was one of unconscious grace. He blew a perfect smoke ring as he stared out at the deep blue of the ocean. He itched to take the wheel and sail until he came to the mouth of the River of Death. Nothing would stop him tomorrow; he would sail with the tide—under his own colors or those of the Dutch East India Company.

He hated to admit it, but he had the feeling that something was about to go awry, something he had no control over. He gazed out to sea, shielding his eyes against the sun's brilliant glare, searching for something—anything—that might give him a clue. He felt as though he were carrying a hundred-pound yoke on his shoulders, and he didn't like the feeling.

The sun dimmed momentarily, and Luis glanced upward. The sky had been blue without a trace of a cloud. He sucked in his breath as two dark shapes, wings spread, flew directly overhead, blocking the sun.
The goddamn black birds!
He swiveled to follow them with his eyes and was stunned a moment later to see them nest in the breadfruit tree at the von Klausner house. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered.

The hundred-pound yoke disappeared. The Sea Siren—the real one or the impostor—was nearby, either on land or hiding in a deepwater cove. He cursed himself for allowing Dykstra to talk him out of sailing to the River of Death. Instantly he was off the
Silver Lady
and boarding the ship he'd just brought into port yesterday. In moments he had his maps and charts out of their goatskin protection, his narrowed gaze tracing the route he would take tomorrow.

Nothing had changed since he'd looked at them last. Again his finger traced the route, up the river, farther, farther, until he came to the deepwater cove he was certain sequestered the deadly, sleek black ship captained by the Sea Siren. She was close;
this
was what he'd been feeling.

Once again his finger traced the cove, this time until he came to the wide half-circle and solid wall of rock and jungle on each side. There was no reason to
sail
up the River of Death, he realized. He could ride at least part of the way and use his feet the rest of the time. He could leave now and find that goddamn black ship before nightfall. He had to. Time was his enemy, with the Spanish ship due in any day.

It was the diamonds, of course. She was after the diamonds, so there was no point in wasting his time searching her out;
she
would find
them.
And she was here: he could feel her. Close, by God, she was so close!

Fifteen minutes later Luis was riding hard. An hour later he realized he was hopelessly lost. All about him was steaming verdant jungle. To his eye, there was no sign of a trail or footpath. The horse, lathered and panting, was about ready to drop. Luis looked upward at the startling blue sky, expecting to see the black birds circling overhead. But the expanse remained serene and beautiful.

Ten minutes later he dismounted and tethered the weary animal. The blazing sun beat down on him as he struck out on foot, his hands ripping and beating back the choking jungle growth. Time soon lost all meaning, but he tramped on regardless. At one point he was aware the sun was well over his shoulder and that he should start back. Another thirty minutes, he pleaded with himself, just thirty more minutes.

Suddenly he found himself sniffing like a dog at a smell he would have recognized anywhere. Water . . . wonderful, glorious water. And something else: the faint sound of voices. He dropped to a near crouch and inched his way to the small sandy beach directly ahead of him. A cove, probably one of many, but would the Siren's ship be anchored in this quiet spot? He slithered to the edge of the beach under full cover of the thick, lush foliage.

Luis's heart thundered in his chest until he was certain the men laughing aboard the black frigate would hear it. Black frigate. The Sea Siren's ship! His eyes searched out the battering ram on the bow. That he would never forget! By God, he'd found it, he'd succeeded where hundreds of others had failed.

He strained to hear what the voices were saying, then blinked in disbelief. They were having a discussion about children and furniture! Chatting and drinking coffee from a huge iron pot on deck. These were not common seamen. Christ, was it possible he'd made a mistake? He continued to listen, one eye on the setting sun.

A deep, pleasant laugh carried across the water as one of the men discussed his sister. The others seemed to know her, for only complimentary words were being used. Was the sister the Sea Siren? Luis wondered. A moment later he knew he'd found the right ship when another of the men mentioned “the
capitana
” and the sister in the same breath. “Even if she feeds those devil birds for the
capitana,
she's as fearful of them as we are.” There was a chorus of agreement among the men. Luis found himself pounding the ground triumphantly. “I wonder if the birds will chaperone the party this evening,” the man continued. “Can you picture that scene?”

Luis had heard enough. He crawled backward until he felt it was safe to stand erect. Then he spun around and tore down the path he'd created earlier. The inky night settled about him just as he sighted his horse. Breathing raggedly, he leaned against the animal's broad flanks.

By God, he'd found her . . . almost. He'd found her ship, and that was every bit as good as finding the she-devil herself. All he had to do, he thought as he climbed into the saddle, was alert the Dutch East India Company and block the entrance to the River of Death. Position men all along the perimeter of the cove to cut off any means of escape. Then he'd have her!

A sudden thought made him rein in the horse. Which one
was
she? Who was the real Siren—the one with the damn black birds or the other one? Both women had a scar; he felt somehow confident of that, although he hadn't seen them and had felt only one for sure. But on which arm? That was the secret . . . which arm? Left? Right?

Angrily Luis wiped his sweating forehead with his shirtsleeve as he spurred the horse onward. By night's end he'd have his answer. And he would remain quiet and not tell Mynheer Dykstra what he'd just discovered. For now.

The moment he reached the smithy he slid from the horse's back and handed the animal to a stable boy. He raced down the street to the town's one boardinghouse. Inside, he shouted for a hot bath as he flew up the staircase, ripping at his shirt along the way.

The startled bath boy rolled his eyes heavenward when Luis started to whistle. The señor was a happy man, he decided as pail after pail of water doused the Spaniard.

Luis was still whistling when, one hour later, he strolled down the plank streets dressed in a natty white linen suit, a fragrant cigar between his fingers. He was the only man to have found the Siren's lair, the only man. The knowledge was more powerful than any aphrodisiac.

Yes, Luis Domingo was a happy man.

Juli clapped her hands to shoo the von Klausner servants from the room with their empty water pails. She turned to Fury, who was sitting on a stool wrapped in a length of soft sheeting. “And now, Señorita van der Rhys, it is time to turn you into the most ravishing creature in all of Batavia. First, your hair. . . . Hmm, you smell divine, better than the entire garden at the casa.”

Fury watched in the mirror as her hair was pulled and tugged, swirled and twirled, until she was barely able to recognize herself in the pier glass. Suddenly she was totally different from the proper young lady who had graced her previous life. She held her breath as Juli touched coloring to her cheeks and blended it on her high cheekbones.

“Now, do this,” the housekeeper said, stretching her mouth into a wide grimace. She ran her index finger deftly over Fury's lips and blotted the excess. “See how white your teeth look against the color of your lips? Perfect! Just perfect,” she pronounced. “And now the earrings. . . . ”

A moment later Fury took a look at herself and gasped. “I don't look like me
or
my mother!”

“That's why it's perfect. Men will be groveling at your feet, all those crusty old Dutch governors with their . . . women. Señor Domingo will probably drag you off to his ship in front of everyone and make wild, passionate love to you all night long,” Juli predicted, grinning.

Fury giggled. The prospect was not without appeal, although she didn't say so to Juli.

Musical chords from the spinet in the ballroom wafted upward to drift through the open French doors. “I do believe the party is beginning,” Juli said. “Even up here I can hear the guests being announced. Oh, Miss Fury, you will create a stir when you walk in alone, more regal than any queen. Quickly now, we must drape this silk to perfection. I have it timed perfectly. Don't squirm, don't even move,” she ordered. Fury's face burned as Juli deftly wrapped the luxurious silk all about her naked body. The housekeeper had insisted she wear no undergarments at all, and she'd been right: no matter how thin, they would have thrown off the look of the fashioned gown.

“Short steps only, Miss Fury.” Juli walked slowly around Fury, inspecting every curve with a critical eye. “You can do it. Just remember that every woman in the room will be green with jealousy, and every man desperate for your favors. And now I have a surprise for you,” she said, her eyes fairly dancing with excitement. “When I went downstairs for extra bath sheeting, I peeked at those little cards for the dinner guests, and guess who your partner is! Señor Domingo!”

Fury's heart began to pound. That meant she would have the handsome Spaniard all to herself for well over an hour. She laughed delightedly and pirouetted for Juli's benefit.

Juli tapped her chin with a stubby finger. “By next week I do believe we could sell this creation by the hundreds. We're the only ones who know it hasn't been sewn. We should give it serious thought. Now, remember, short steps or you'll fall flat on your face,” she said tartly.

Fury twirled one last time in front of the pier glass, her eyes drinking in the sight of her long, slender form. Suddenly the room was awash with sound and motion as the hawks swooped in to perch on the bedposts. Fury affected a low, sweeping bow, and Pilar fanned her wings in approval. Gaspar tilted his head to the side, then sailed across the room to land on the dressing table. He extended one claw, and Fury saw something sparkle in the clutch of his talon.

“The garter!” Juli cried. “You get it, Miss Fury. I'm not going near those birds.”

Fury held out her hand, and Gaspar dropped the diamond garter into her palm. “They love anything that glitters,” she said with fond indulgence as she fastened the garter on her upper arm. “Now what?” she asked Juli as the diamond circlet slipped to her wrist. “It's too big. . . . ”

“Allow me.” Juli unfastened the garter, one eye on the hawks as they watched her every movement. “See, we'll fasten it higher and move it to catch on this link. The little tail will be on the inside of your arm. No one will notice. . . . There! It's perfectly exquisite!”

Pilar's wings rustled and fanned out as she lifted herself up to hover above Juli and Fury. Gently, one wing tip lowered to tickle Fury's cheek. Gaspar flapped his wings until he, too, had a suitable draft to rise, and then both birds
swooshe
d through the open doors leading to the balcony. Juli sighed with obvious relief as she ushered Fury to the bedroom door.

“Have a wonderful time, Miss Fury,” she said, giving her a hug. “I'll try to peek from the landing.”

Fury blessed herself as she walked out to the staircase that led to the wide central foyer. She told herself she was a make-believe fairy princess on her way to a ball where she would meet a handsome prince—and that was exactly what she was doing, she thought triumphantly.

Fury drew a deep breath when the von Klausners' houseman announced, “Señorita Furana van der Rhys. . . .” She heard the collective gasp as she made her way down the receiving line—and she reveled in it. Head held high, she moved off to the right side of the room so designated for ladies, where she was immediately claimed by a gallant Spanish don who insisted on fetching her a glass of wine. While she waited for him to return, she allowed her eyes to search the room for a glimpse of Luis Domingo.

 

At the moment of Fury's announced entrance to the ball, Luis Domingo was being introduced to the board of governors from the Dutch East India Company and their charming escorts. He made a show of bowing elaborately over Naula's hand and received a brazen wink in return. Chuckling, he straightened—just in time to witness Fury's entrance.

“Regan's daughter,” murmured one of the governors.

A second nodded appreciatively. “Exquisite creature. More beautiful than her mother. . . . ”

“Magnificent gown, and I know nothing about women's clothes,” pronounced a third governor.

The ladies, too, had much to say with their eyes and low-voiced mutterings.

“The gown must have cost a fortune. . . .”

“Absolutely nothing underneath . . .”

“Flawless gems . . . worth a king's ransom . . .”

“Scandalous use of face color . . .”

And then Naula's statement put it all in perspective for Luis:

“If that gorgeous silk were mine, I'd have made it Chinese style with an opening up to here.” She pointed to the middle of her slender thigh. “Just high enough for a garter to show through the opening when I took a step.”

Instantly Luis excused himself and made his way across the room to Fury. His heart pumped furiously as he bowed low over her hand, his dark eyes glittering with admiration. Christ, she was beautiful. More beautiful than any woman he'd ever met. And possibly more dangerous as well. It was time to find out.

“Señor Domingo, how nice to see you again,” Fury murmured. Her blood wasn't just singing, it was boiling in her veins.

“And I you,” Luis said gallantly. “But don't you think it's time you called me Luis?”

The laughter around his eyes puzzled Fury, but she smiled and nodded. “Will you be in port long?” she asked. The handsome don, approaching with a long-stemmed goblet, glowered at Luis, then abruptly changed course and drank the wine himself.

Luis smiled. “I think I just intimidated the man who was fetching your wine. My apologies. Would you like me to—”

“No, thank you. He was merely being polite. It must be obvious to you, Señ—Luis, that the ladies here this evening are . . .”

“Jealous? But of course. They pale beside you, and isn't that something no woman wants to have happen?”

“I wouldn't know,” Fury said airily.

Luis laughed. “Come now, I thought every woman”—he emphasized the word—“recognized envy as the highest form of flattery, particularly when exhibited by members of her own sex. Would you like to hear a bit of gossip concerning your gown?” he teased.

“Oh, dear, am I perhaps too . . . ?” She glanced down at herself in sudden apprehension.

“On the contrary. All of the . . . ah, governors' escorts were breathless with their comments. The one with black hair said if she had a length of silk, she would have fashioned it Chinese style, with a slit up to here, and worn a garter. The others seemed to agree with her taste.” Luis watched Fury's eyes for any sign of agitation.

“How interesting,” Fury said coolly. “And what is your opinion?”
My God, he knows, and he's baiting me. Damn you, Gaspar, if it weren't for you, I would have forgotten to wear this bauble.

Luis pretended embarrassment. “I like a length of thigh as much as the next man. I think I'd vote for the garter. They must be all the rage in feminine wear. The Sea Siren wears one. But then,” he added lightly, “women are creatures of whimsy, and fashions change so quickly these days. Don't you agree?”

“Absolutely.” By now Fury wanted desperately to flee but knew she had to brazen this out and pretend to take Luis's words at face value. “I think I would like that wine after all, Luis. If you don't mind . . .”

“It will be my pleasure,” Luis said, and moved off to the far corner of the room.

By God, she
was
the one! He had her now
and
the place where she kept her ship. As he waited for a white-liveried waiter to pour wine into two long-stemmed crystal goblets, he began to laugh, remembering the look on Fury's face when he mentioned the garter. She thinks I suspect, but she isn't sure, he reflected. By God, it was the coup of the century!

Suddenly he sobered, recalling that whatever her game was, Fury van der Rhys—the Sea Siren of the diamond garter and black birds—hadn't harmed him when they'd met at sea. She'd merely said
she
had come out of retirement to seek the woman posing as herself, and he hadn't believed her. It was the other one, the impostor, who'd plundered his ships and then accosted him a second time. Christ, he was going mad with all this subterfuge!

“Thank you,” Fury said demurely when he returned with her wine. “I don't believe you responded when I asked how long you'll be in port.”

“Another day at least. I have something I must do tomorrow, and if I finish, I'll sail with the tide.”

Fury smiled. “You make it all sound so . . . mysterious.”

“I suppose it is in a way. I think I've discovered, and this is just between us”—Luis lowered his voice—“the Sea Siren's lair.”

Fury's fingers clutched the stem of the wineglass in a white-knuckled grip. “How . . . how interesting. Perhaps you might confide in me? Of course I won't breathe a word. I did live here for some of my younger years. I might know where this lair is.”

“Would you believe it's possible to navigate the River of Death? I think that's how the Siren gets away. The volcanoes create a mist, and the steam from them mixes with the river to form a black mist they say she disappears into. Of course, my maps say the mouth of the river has been blocked for years. The volcanoes erupted during the Siren's reign of the seas. That's why she retired; she couldn't travel the river any longer.”

“You almost make me believe you, Luis,” Fury said sharply. “But everyone knows the river is still blocked. No one is brave enough to take a ship up that river. I think your theory is interesting, but not feasible.”

“Tomorrow I plan to test it. The Dutch East India Company has a new sloop that will sail through with ease. I think the river's been open for years now. The currents and tides . . . you see, it's the only explanation.”

“Tomorrow, you say?” Fury purred.

Luis nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Fury sipped her wine. “Tell me, have you spoken of your theory to anyone else?”

“Good Lord, no. Do you think I want to give away the biggest coup of my life? Then there's the reward, of course, and handsome it is. But I know I can trust you.”

Fury smiled grimly. “Have no fear, Luis, my lips are sealed.”

“Not forever, I hope,” Luis said lightly. “Someday I should like to kiss those lips.”

Fury's throat closed, and her eyes smarted with tears. Frantically, she glanced toward the stairway for some sign of Juli.

“Oh, there's one other thing,” Luis said, watching her intently. Again he lowered his voice. “Apparently the Siren sails with two huge black birds, deadly creatures. This afternoon I saw them fly overhead and nest not far from this very house. That can mean only that the Sea Siren is in one of the coves or inlets off the river. Don't you agree?”

Fury shrugged. “What would I know about such things? Deadly black birds, diamond garters, the River of Death . . . I only hope you aren't wasting your time. They say the Siren can outthink and outmaneuver any man.”

“I've heard that, too,” Luis said mockingly. “I'll keep it all in mind. Now, would you care for a stroll in the garden? It's much too warm in here. You can walk in that dress, can't you?”

“Not very well, but yes, I would like to take a stroll. First, however, I'd like to go to my room for a handkerchief. If you'll wait for me, I'll join you on the veranda.”

It seemed to take Fury forever to make her way across the room and out to the candlelit foyer, where she spotted Juli talking in rapturous tones to the von Klausners' houseman.

“I have to talk to you. Now!” she spat out, taking Juli by the arm.

“What is it?” Juli asked, alarmed.

“Luis Domingo knows. He's been baiting me all evening. Somehow he's figured it all out. You have to go to the cove and tell your brothers to take the ship out and down the river. He knows it's no longer blocked, and he said he's going upriver tomorrow. We can't wait until then—it has to be done now! I hate to ask you to do this, but I can't leave, he's too suspicious as it is. I wouldn't put it past him to leave now just to satisfy his own curiosity. For all I know, he may already have been to the cove.”