Raven Quest (10 page)

Rory stepped out of the hired carriage into the heavy air. In Jamaica, she had avoided the day's worst heat by staying inside the taproom. When she pulled her shawl over her head to hide her hair as the other women on Havana's streets did, Nathan laughed. The sound was like a sweet breath of cool air.

“What is so funny?” she asked, smiling as she had not since their argument in his bed.

“Look at you! Weeks ago you were an urchin in patched knee breeches. Now you look like a planter's wife on her way to Sabbath services.”

“
Me
? You are positively puritanical in that outfit.” She could not help admiring the velvet coat that was closed to his knees. His shirtsleeves were edged by a narrow strip of lace, and he carried a tricorn hat decorated with a plume.

“No worse than Ernest.”

She laughed, for she had never seen Ernest in anything but tattered clothes. Now his sparse hair was brushed neatly, and his clothes were as stylish as Nathan's.

When Nathan offered his arm as they walked to a small gate in a wall, she put her hand on it. Her heart thudded against her chest. The firm line of his arm urged her to stroke it as she drew it around her. Gazing up at him, she held her breath as his fingers rose to her face.

Nathan lurched against her as Ernest pulled the string to ring the bell.

“Sorry to bump you, Cap'n,” he mumbled.

Nathan started to answer, but the door opened. Ernest spoke in rapid Spanish. The woman, garbed in a black shawl covering her from head to foot, shook her head and started to close the door.

Angrily, Ernest put out his hand to halt it and said something else Rory could not understand. Nor could she understand why he had jostled Nathan. She had not guessed the first mate wanted to keep her and Nathan from smoothing over their differences.

“Come on,” he growled. “She'll let us in while she checks with the padre.”

“Will he see us?” asked Nathan.

“I'm not sure, Cap'n. Our ties of friendship were never too tight to begin with.”

The bent woman in black motioned for them to enter. When Rory stepped through the door, Nathan laced her fingers through his. She smiled at the woman, but the old woman rushed away down a passageway leading into the shadows.

The whitewashed walls were broken by the arched doorways. Beneath her feet, the floor was of tiles in an abstract design. A shiver raced along her back, making her tremble. Something about this
casa,
as Ernest had called it, made her uneasy. It was more than the oppressive silence and encroaching shadows. Very little resembled anything she knew from Port Royal.

She put her other hand on Nathan's arm. He squeezed her fingers lightly. Drawing his hand to her, she brushed it with a kiss. His eyes glowed like stars as his fingers tipped her mouth to his. A desperate moan caressed her lips the moment before he captured them. Her fingers crushed his velvet sleeves as his tongue searched her mouth. Oh, this was what she wanted. To be in his arms, to be against his mouth.

“Cap'n!” Ernest cleared his throat.

With dazed eyes, Rory looked past Nathan as he released her. The old woman padded toward them on silent feet. This time when she argued with Ernest, she was not willing to relent.

“What's the problem, Ernest?”

“Padre Fernando insists on seeing Miss Rory without us.” A wry grin pulled at his mouth. “It would seem he trusts me no more than I trust him. He doesn't think a ‘lovely lady with sunshine hair,' as this old woman calls Miss Rory, would lie.”

Nathan cursed. “Let's go. I won't—”

“Swearing won't help anything,” Rory said. “I'm going to see Padre Fernando. I have taken care of myself before without your help. I can today. If I have trouble, I can outrun a sixty-year-old man.”

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “Don't hesitate to leave if you think the situation is becoming dangerous. There must be other ways of finding out what we need to know.”

He bent and kissed her cheek, and she saw the old woman's mouth gaping, aghast. With a tentative smile, she followed the old woman. She tried to keep track of where they went as she glimpsed a garden in what must be a central courtyard.

Rory took a deep breath when they stopped before an ornately carved doorway. The old woman knocked so softly, Rory wondered how anyone would hear it.

A tall, dark-haired man opened the door. A single word sent the woman scurrying away before he added in unaccented English, “Come in, Señorita Mullins.”

When she entered the luxuriously appointed room, he lifted her hand to his lips beneath his reed-thin moustache. She drew back her hand as the wide lace at his wrists threatened to consume it.

“Allow me to introduce myself, señorita. I am Guillermo Herrera y Fallas.”

Finding her voice, she answered, “How do you do, sir? I am Rory Mullins. I thought I was to see Padre Fernando.”

“It's my honor to escort you to my great-uncle's bedside. We hope you forgive us treating you with the informality of family.” He took her hand and placed it on his arm.

Rory pulled away. “I can walk alone.”

“Of course.” He motioned at a door on the left.

She stared at the room beyond. The bed was the largest she had ever seen and was draped in cloth of gold. Plush rugs softened the tiles.

As she neared, a black shape amid the pillows became an old man. His eyes, almost lost among wrinkles, brightened. “Come closer, my child, so these old eyes may view you more easily.”

Rory wondered if she should curtsy. Her uneasiness had strengthened when she entered the room. The sooner she could get the information they needed, the sooner she could leave.

“I have been told by my friend Ernest Dawes,” she said, “that you might be able to help me find out more about my father, who sailed near Cuba.”

His eyes narrowed. “What ship, my child?”

“My father, Roscoe Mullins, sailed on the
Lady's Slipper
and the
Raven
and his final ship was the
Cove Cutter.
I know that ship went down years ago.” When she saw the priest's suspicious glance at the younger man, she said, “Padre Fernando, my mother is dying.” The lie was bitter on her lips. “She wants me to find the spot where my father went to his final rest. She wants to be put to rest there also.” She placed her hands over her eyes as if she was weeping. “Please help me, Padre Fernando.”

“Give me your hand,” he ordered.

“Padre?”

“Now, child!”

Rory's fingers shook as she held them out. He clasped them in his gnarled hand. When he smiled and looked past her, she glanced over her shoulder to see Señor Herrera y Fallas far too close.

Her disquiet doubled when Padre Fernando placed her hand on his great-nephew's palm. Señor Herrera y Fallas's long fingers closed like a trap around her hand. She looked from one smile to the other.

“Go with Guillermo, my child,” ordered Padre Fernando. “What you ask will take many days to uncover. You shall stay here at La Casa de Las Flores until we learn what you need to know.”

“Oh, no, I couldn't impose—”

“I said you will stay here, my child. Go with Guillermo. He will take you to where you can freshen yourself before dinner.”

She hesitated, then realized in order to gain any information, she would have to obey. “Thank you, Padre Fernando. I look forward to speaking with you again.”

As soon as they left the room, she drew her hand out of Señor Herrera y Fallas's.

“Don't look so glum, señorita,” he said with a smile. “My great-uncle is accustomed to ruling this house and everyone in it. You will get used to his ways.”

How long did they think she was staying? She could not ask that, so she said only, “I'll try.”

“May I call you Rory?”

“Of course.”

“And you will call me Guillermo. Smile, Rory.” He bent toward her as if to share a secret. When she backed away, his smile dimmed. “You must realize that your beauty has made him consent to help you in your search for your father's resting place. He will enjoy seeing you often.”

“You sound as if you expect that I shall be here for some time. That isn't possible. I must—”

“I understand,
mi querida.
Your ailing
mamacita.
”

He was mocking her. It was no wonder, for her story was filled with as many holes as a termite-infested board. A flash of fear congealed to send cold chills along her spine. If they did not believe her story, why were they willing to help her?

He opened a door and she walked into a room as big as Padre Fernando's. The walls were painted a pale pink to divert the heat.

“These rooms are yours to use while you stay at La Casa de las Flores,” he said, then called out something she could not understand.

A young woman opened a door to reveal a bedroom beyond. She was tall and as willowy as a fisherman's pole. Her hair was arranged in two sable braids down her back.

“This is Nicte, Rory.” He smiled. “She will be here to serve you. I regret she's unable to speak English. Nor Spanish, I'm afraid. She knows only the Indian dialect.”

Rory bit her lip. Nicte must have been taken from her family to be a slave. That happened often in Jamaica. Turning to him, she said, “I cannot accept all this when I'm an uninvited guest.”

“Uninvited, perhaps, but not unwelcome,
mi querida.
”

His eyes glittered as Yellow Hal's had when he discovered she was a woman, and she edged away.

He did not seem to notice. “Rest, Rory. If I may, I will return to escort you to dinner.”

“Yes, if you wish,” she murmured, unsure what else she could say.

He bowed once more and, going out the door, snapped something at Nicte. Rory saw her cringe and wondered what Nicte's mistake was when she had done nothing yet.

Rory put out her hand toward the maid but withdrew it when she shrank back in terror. “I am Rory.” She pointed to her chest.

“Rory?” repeated the young woman. She uttered a series of syllables, but the only two Rory recognized were “Neec-tay.” She pointed to herself as Rory had.

“Do you know where Captain Lawler and Mr. Dawes are? Captain Lawler? Mr. Dawes?”

She got nothing but a confused shrug. Going to a door, she looked out at a balcony over the garden. The answers they sought might be here, but now all she cared about was discovering where Nathan was. She wanted to tell him what had happened during her conversation with Padre Fernando, although she was not certain herself. Also, maybe more importantly, it was time to have the talk they had been avoiding on the
Vengeance,
before it was too late.

Eight

Rory smiled when Nathan turned just as she entered the dining room with Guillermo. She wanted to rush to his side and ask him what
mi querida
meant, for Guillermo continued to use the phrase when he spoke to her.

The long room was decorated with dark furniture beneath an iron chandelier lit with dozens of candles. Nathan and Ernest were speaking with Padre Fernando, who sat at the far end of the table. Two women stood silently behind him. She knew the older woman must be Guillermo's mother. She was dressed all in black, but richly. On her head, a black mantilla covered her graying hair. She wore her widowhood like a badge of honor.

The other woman was the most beautiful she had ever seen. Her dark brown eyes contrasted with her ivory skin. She wore a pale yellow silk gown with ribbons of gold. The expression in her eyes matched Nathan's. Neither was pleased to see Rory arrive on Guillermo's arm.

Rory tried to step away to go to Nathan, but Guillermo said, “Come, Rory. There are two I wish you to meet.”

Guillermo's mother greeted her with the barest civility, but the younger woman was not so reticent. “I am Luz Isabella Maria de Valverde y Tejada.”

“I am Rory Mullins, señorita.” She was not sure how many of the names she was supposed to use. “Are you one of the family?”

“Not yet,” Guillermo said, squeezing her hand.

Luz glanced in amazement, then anger, at Guillermo, and Rory guessed Luz and Guillermo were to marry. She had heard of the Spanish custom of bringing the bride-to-be into the household so she might learn about it before the wedding.

In an icy tone, Luz said, “I am presently a guest, Señorita Mullins.”

“I'm pleased to meet you. Now, if you would excuse me, I must—”

“You must speak to my great-uncle, Rory.” Guillermo paid no attention to Luz's rage at his familiar use of Rory's given name.

She glanced uneasily at Nathan. His scowl was deepening, and she wondered how much longer he would remain silent, or she could.

Her attention was drawn to Padre Fernando when he asked, “How do you like your rooms, my child?”

“They are lovely, but something quite simple would have been sufficient.”

He laughed. “Such humility is lovely in a woman. Don't you agree, Guillermo?”

“Assuredly, Great-uncle.”

“Guillermo tells me, Rory, that you are not a member of any church.” He sighed. “That is a shame, my dear. You must be concerned for your eternal soul.”

“I did attend St. Paul's as a child,” she answered.

“St. Paul's? Which one?”

When she hesitated, knowing her answer might reveal something best left unsaid, Nathan said quietly, “In Virginia colony.” His hands rested on her shoulders.

“And are you from Virginia colony as well?”

“A bit farther north, near the Potomac. I happened to be in Middle Plantation when Rory was looking to hire a ship.” His hands slid along her arms in a gentle caress. “Though we have not found her father's resting place, we have had a very pleasant journey together, haven't we, Rory?”

She blushed. Any answer she might have given was interrupted by the announcement that dinner was ready. He did not release her as he walked with her to a chair. “Nathan, behave yourself!”