The Siren's Song (15 page)

Lynch led Gilly off the pier and down a tree-dotted avenue stretching into the heart of the city. His strong arm, Jamison, followed close behind. He pushed aside his jacket to offer her a clear view of his pistol, a warning not to try and flee. Lynch walked leisurely as if out for a stroll, his pipe, long since burned empty, hanging from his teeth. Friendly people smiled, men tipped their hats to her, and children played through the streets. Despite her fears, a sense of peace eased into her. She felt welcomed here, as if she had belonged in Havana all along. Though she hardly said a word, Lynch spoke with a casual cadence of Havana’s history, pointing out various buildings and cathedrals. The city was rich as much as in an important port for Spain as with its lore, including those involving pirates.

Gilly wondered about her own brush with a particular pirate. Lynch’s stories gave way to visions of Thayer standing at the
Rissa
’s helm commanding his ship, then of him commanding her.

Sadness clenched her heart. She regretted ever becoming intimate with him. She regretted interrupting the intimacy. Mostly, she regretted falling for a man who didn’t share her feelings.

She wished him well.

“Here we are.”

The large stone building stood two stories. Blue painted the wood casing around double doors and floor-to-ceiling windows. Ironwork curved and coiled over the glass panes.

“La Cervecería del Trovador,” Lynch said. “The Alehouse of the Minstrel. Locals just call it El Trovador. ’Tis a favorite among men looking for more exclusive entertainment while squanderin’ coin on drink.”

Drinks likely came at a price. The place brimmed with sumptuousness. Decorative torches lined the walls between mirrors, chairs were cushioned, and a cloudy sky was painted on the ceiling. Patrons, many for this hour, ranged from very wealthy to the mere commoner with money to spend. But most impressive was the large stage along the back of the room, larger than any stage she had seen. Blue curtains had been pulled open revealing a scene painted on the wall of a garden with the sea just beyond. What would it be like to stand up there and sing? How heavenly it must be to perform here.

“Beautiful,” she said.

“Don’t let that fool ya, Miss McCoy. El Trovador can be as dangerous as the roughest tavern full o’ cutthroats. Bobadilla, the proprietor of this place, will shoot ya dead for looking at ’im cross and he tolerates no brawlin’. Says he runs a respectable business and means ta keep it that way. But ya know, a drunk don’t care where his gullet’s getting soused if he wants trouble. This way, lassie.”

He placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her forward. Chills slithered up her spine and she hurried ahead just to put distance from his touch.

Mather and Turk sat at the corner of the bar near the stage. Mather’s view of the door was unobscured and he watched intently as she crossed the room. He rose from his stool.

“Gillian.” He plucked a piece of hay from her hair. “How was the rest of the journey for you?”

“Splendid,” she said flatly. “Why am I here, Mather?”

“I like that about you.” He twirled the hay between his fingers, and then flicked it to the bar. “You’re a frank girl.”

He motioned for her to sit and signaled the alehouse keeper. Lynch stood uncomfortably close to her, even resting his hand on the back of her chair. “Refill our drinks, good sir. Six and tips for the paddy and his man. Milk for the lass.”

“Rum. I’d like rum please.” If she couldn’t have her laudanum, the rum would do. She’d become quite partial to the smooth flavor.

Mather’s eyes pressed upon her and his unmoving pupils held until his tight lips crooked into a sneer. He nodded to the barkeep. “Rum for the lady.”

The drinks were forthcoming, but Mather’s explanations were not. “This Havana, I find it a lovely city, wouldn’t you agree? A precocious place, with an array of culture. Too bad Spain lays claim to this island. By no means does that matter to a man like me. But I do consider myself a patriot.”

“Your frittering is not an asset, sir.”

“’Tis not frittering. I’m merely enjoying the company.”

“Nay,” she said. “You enjoy watching me squirm while I wait to hear of my fate.”

“True. But now I tire of it.” He set his glass on the counter. “It occurred to me I may never see the money Hyde stole from me. Either you are telling me the truth and he did not give it to you or you have hidden it someplace. Rather than continue this ridiculous pursuit, I have decided to recoup my money. The keep here tells me of a man, a very wealthy man who may enjoy your…talents.”

“You would have me earn back the money lost by employing me to sing?”

“Ha! The city is indeed intriguing but I’ve no plans to stay for such nonsense. I’m due back in St. Augustine in a fortnight for an important engagement, and I won’t disappoint Madam Bonner by not showing.”

Gilly searched for his meaning and came up empty. “If I’m not to earn your money back by singing, how do you intend—” She gasped. “I’m not a whore!”

Mather threw his head back and laughed heartily. His natural amusement and pleasing looks softened his cold barbarity. Several women in the room took a keen interest of Mather. She could understand why as with his easy smile, she momentarily found him to be a jolly companion. But only until he spoke.

“Dear girl, wealthy men willing to spend a fortune on a young woman for their bedroom pleasures do so for virgins, which you are not. I’m not in the business of hawking laced mutton.” His gaze snaked down to her bosom. “Besides, if I were, I’d insist on sampling my wares first.”

Lynch put a protective hand on her shoulder, which did anything but make her feel safe. Oh, what a mess she was in.

She removed Lynch’s hand. “What would you have me do?” Her sarcasm bit in her question. “Pray tell, Mather, what grand design have you fabricated for me?”

His eyes left her breasts in favor of her attention. “This man, Mancho Diaz, is the commander of Havana’s infantry and advisor to the governor. The keep says he has highly discriminative tastes and would appreciate a refined songbird such as you. You are to perform for him. If he likes what he hears, and he
will
like what he hears, I’ll make him an offer.”

“What?” Lynch stepped around from behind her chair. “Mather! We had an agreement! Catch up to the
Rissa
and help you get your money back, and I get the girl.”

Mather shrugged. “I lied.” He took a sip from his glass, unconcerned over Lynch’s face reddening with anger.

“Bastard.” Lynch reached for his piece, but Turk already had his pistol trained on him from his hip and Lynch thought better of the challenge. He, instead, reached in his breast pocket and pulled out his tinder box filled with tobacco.

“Sit back down, Gillian,” Mather said.

“You used me,” Lynch ground out.

“Tut! You’ve served me well these past few days and you’ll be compensated well once I am paid for Miss McCoy.”

“I’m not yours to sell,” she said.

“Ah, but you are. You are indentured to me until the money Hyde stole is replaced.”

She reached for some modicum of threat, and, heavens, was it a stretch. “Captain Drake will come for Henri and he will come for me. He won’t let you do this.”

“Captain Drake is no longer a concern of mine and I’ve no use for his old dwarf. He’ll be released upon your payment.”

“You’d be foolish to dismiss Drake,” Lynch said. “He’s a devil. That you can mark well.”

“I’ve not dismissed the enterprising pirate. On the contrary, I’ve put word in a few buggers’ ears. The first one to kill him gets a nice reward.”

A knot cinched in Gilly’s stomach. Thayer was in immediate danger and he had no idea. He would die if he entered the city. She mustn’t let that happen. But how?

“You assume too much, Mather.” She took a meticulous drink from her glass. She hoped her attempt to personify his calm contrivance paid off. “Perhaps I will sing miserably.”

“I’ll be clear,” he said. “If you do anything that tarnishes my chance to make a sale, I will kill both you and that little curmudgeon. Is Henri’s life incentive enough? Is yours?”

Foiled, she could think of nothing to say. All her hope deflated. None of her plans she worked out in her head were achievable and she needed time to rethink. Escaping, saving Henri and warning Thayer was too much for her to handle. The whole situation weighed upon her. Thoughts and emotions jumbled and swarmed together like angry bees.

A young man hurried behind the bar. With nervous glances to the group, he spoke in the barkeep’s ear. The barkeep nodded and waved the lad away.

“Señor.”
He leaned over the bar. “Señor Diaz has agreed to watch your
cantatriz bonita.
He’ll be here in an hour.”

Mather cast an infuriating grin. “Splendid.”

“She’ll need a dress,” a feminine voice said.

The barkeeper stared hard at the person sitting two stools from Gilly. The woman, wearing a tricorn hat, stared back. Without a word, the keep shoved off the bar and walked to the other end.

“She’ll need a showy dress if you want to impress Señor Diaz,” the woman said.

Just how much of their conversation did this woman hear? She’d only sat down a few moments ago.

“Your name, miss?”

“Joelle.” She rose from her chair and removed her hat. Striking red locks harnessed in a leather tie at her neck fell down her back. Her calculating emerald eyes sparkled as they swept the group. “But my name is unimportant.” Freckles dusted the rise of her cheeks with her sweetened smile. “As I’ve said, to impress Diaz you’ll need to embellish the package. He’ll not listen to her sing looking as if she’s been sleeping with the livestock.”

So close she was to the truth, Gilly couldn’t be offended.

“What do you know of elegance?” Mather said. He waved a hand over the woman’s clothing. “Your attire matches that of a beggar boy.”

Joelle arched a shapely eyebrow. “
My
clothing suits me. I’m not dressing to catch the eye of the wealthiest man, second only to the governor, in Havana.”

Mather conceded with a nod. “Are you offering to help the lady?”

“I can make her beautiful.” The redhead looked to the barkeep to which he nodded. “Bobadilla will lend her a dress. We’ll find one that fits among those for the dancers who perform here.”

“If you are looking for payment—”

“I’ve no need of your coin,” Joelle said. “I only want to see if this chit can indeed win over Mache—Diaz. He’s no fool and only parts with his money for the finer things. Just look at her. He won’t consider hearing her even if she sings like an angel. Call it a challenge, but I’d like to see if I can tip the scales.”

Did she look that bad? She looked down at her clothing. Bits of hay stuck to the wool of her trousers, her tunic was ripped and, by the feel of her hair, Gilly was in dire wont of a brush. She didn’t want this woman to tip any scales but the alternative was far bleaker. She’d find a way out of this. But for now, Gilly had to play along.

Mather smirked. “All right. Let’s see what you can do. Be warned, lass, Miss McCoy is not to leave this tavern. If she does, I’ll have your neck.”

“Very well,” Joelle said.

A pure evil grin coiled his lips. “Turk, go with the ladies.” Mather gave them his back and returned to his cups.

Turk slid his eyes over the fire-headed beauty, and she seemed to be doing the same. Only Joelle wasn’t giving Turk coy eyes. Rather, by the tilt of her head, she assessed his level of threat.

“Shall we?” Joelle hooked her arm into Gilly’s and hurried to a door beside the stage. Down the corridor were several doors. Joelle led them to the last one. Pushing Gilly through, she tried to shut it but Turk stopped it from closing.

“You don’t believe we’re going to let you in here while she’s in a state of undress, do you?” She planted a fist on her hip. “Well, do you?”

“M’ boss said keep an eye on you.”

“Uh-huh. Come in. Take a look around. That’s right, see for yourself. No windows, no doors, nothing but costumes and makeup. Now, how about a little privacy, big man?”

Gilly was impressed. Joelle’s blunt approach and the way she seemed to seductively smile even when she wasn’t had Turk doing exactly what she wanted. Much like she had with Mather. With her God-given assets and confidence, Gilly didn’t think many men said no to her. She envied Joelle.

“I’m gonna be right outside this door, ya hear?” Turk said. “No foolishness.”

“Of course. Push off. I’ve got a lot of work ahead if I’m to make her dazzle in an hour.”

Joelle locked the door behind him. Turning around, she stared at Gilly a moment before circling around her, scrutinizing every inch of her. She lifted Gilly’s arms out to get a good look and patted down her curves from her bosom to her waist.

“How is Thayer? Speak me his tidings.”

“You know Thayer?” On the heels of her surprise came caution. Was this woman a friend of Thayer’s, or a foe, or worse, a lover?

“Aye. Our paths cross frequently. But I haven’t heard news since the
Rissa
took to fair winds nearly eleven months ago. Not since…” She paused and looked to the ceiling. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. “What ventures is he in?”

“Oh. Um. He’s a salvager. He saves people and cargo from shipwrecks along the Florida coast.”

Joelle snorted. “Saves, you say? That doesn’t sound like the abominable Captain Drake.”

“I tell you true.” Gilly bristled with annoyance. “He saved me. I would have drowned if he hadn’t.”

“How long have you been with…the
Rissa?
”

Was she implying something? Gilly couldn’t be sure. She opened her mouth to answer but shrugged instead.

“And Valeryn? Does he still sail with Drake?”

She nodded.

“Of course he does.” Joelle tossed her a brush. “The wicked follow the wicked.”

Gilly couldn’t figure her out. Joelle asked questions as if she genuinely wanted to hear good news about Drake and Valeryn but then scoffed over them with bitter remarks.

“Tell me why this Mather wretch wants to sell you off and how Henri got involved.”