CHAPTER THREE

Doña Pirata

TOMLIN GASPED, then grabbed Bainbridge’s still body, shaking him. “Captain Bainbridge! Wake up, sir!”

When the dead man did not respond, Tomlin wailed, “What’s wrong with ’im?” He grabbed the captain’s jacket, then the neck of his shirt, and pulled them away from his shoulder, baring the wound. It was tiny, barely half an inch deep. The bleeding had stopped. Tomlin stared at Jack, his jaw working. “But…but…how could this little scratch ’ave done for ’im, Mr. Sparrow?”

“I suspect it was an apoplexy, Mr. Tomlin,” Jack said, as gently as he could. “He wasn’t a young man.”

“No,” Tomlin moaned. “What will happen to us without the cap’n?” He put both hands on Bainbridge’s shoulders and shook him again, so hard his arms flopped. “Cap’n!”

“Stop that, Mr. Tomlin,” Robby Greene ordered, gently but firmly. “It’s not respectful.”

Tomlin obeyed, trying to gulp back sobs.

Jack squared his shoulders and looked up at the second mate. “Mr. Greene, why don’t you and Mr. Tomlin go fetch a hammock?”

“Aye, Mr. Sparrow. Come along, Tomlin,” Greene replied.

When a sailor died at sea, he was sewn into his canvas hammock, which became his shroud. As the second and third mate left, many of the men muttered quick prayers, and several crossed themselves.

Jack sighed, then carefully straightened Bainbridge’s body and closed the staring blue eyes. He pulled the man’s clothing into place, and then placed the captain’s hat over the dead features. Only then did he stand up, still keeping his back to Venganza and her watching crew. Replacing the tricorne he’d doffed, he pulled it low over his face, positioning himself so he was partially obscured by the tarred ropes of the shrouds.

Only then did he look up to face Doña Pirata. While they’d been tending to the captain, she’d been standing silently near the gunwale, her cutlass once more sheathed, but now she raised her head and regarded him, her expression carefully blank.

Putting both hands together, chest-high, Jack bobbed a small bow. “Captain…as first mate of the brig Fair Wind, I am now in command. I wish to ensure the safety of my crew.” He kept his voice low, so it wouldn’t carry to her men. Then he added, for her ears alone, in fluent, if badly accented, French, “Please, don’t speak my name.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, then she stepped forward. “Señor. You may call me Doña Pirata. I captain the frigate Venganza. Señor, I regret the death of your captain. I believe you understand that it was never my intention to cause him harm.”

“I witnessed the engagement, Doña Pirata,” Jack said, eyeing her, wondering what would happen now. “What transpired was perfectly clear. Captain Bainbridge…when he attacked you, he was not himself.” He touched a finger meaningfully to his own temple. “Savvy?”

She nodded. “Comprendo, señor. Now we must—” she broke off when Greene and Tomlin returned, carrying a hammock, cord, and a huge needle to sew the hammock closed. “Perhaps we could parlay…somewhere else? So we may speak privately?”

Jack nodded, still keeping his voice low, and said, “Certainly. Though I must remain aboard my ship.”

“Let us speak up there,” she said, gesturing up at Fair Wind’s quarterdeck. “That way both our crews will be able to witness that we negotiate in good faith and remain in good health.”

Jack nodded, then turned to Fair Wind’s crew. He avoided looking down at what Robby and Tomlin were doing. “Lads, the Lady Pirate and I are going to discuss what happens now. We’ll be up on the quarterdeck.” He cleared his throat. “I know we will all miss Captain Bainbridge. His…service…will be tomorrow, at dawn, as custom dictates.”

When they had climbed the ladder, and were on the quarterdeck, Jack nodded at the helmsman, still standing at the tiller, and motioned for him to lash the tiller in place, and then leave. When the man started down the portside ladder, Jack and Esmeralda walked to the stern, as far away from the weather deck, and Fair Wind’s crew, as they could get. As before, Jack stood with his back to Venganza. He knew he was probably being overcautious about concealing his identity; pirate crews experienced a lot of turnover. It was possible that no one in her crew would recognize him. But why take chances?

Esmeralda leaned on the taffrail, gazing silently down at the deck, the brim of her hat obscuring her face. Jack, too, could think of nothing to say. He’d been excited at the thought of seeing her again, but now that they were together, the years apart seemed to rise between them, as tangible as a wall.

Finally, she looked up, and their eyes met.

Suddenly the years fell away and they both spoke at once.

“Jack, to see you like—”

“Esmeralda, I never—”

Both of them stopped. Jack smiled, and gestured with one hand. “Please…continue.”

She shrugged, smiled ruefully, then tried again. “This is a very strange meeting, Jack. To see you like this…I hardly recognized you.” Turning to stare out to sea, she whispered, “I have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, love,” Jack said, moving up to stand beside her. “And you’re right; we find ourselves in a very strange situation.”

She nodded, then squared her shoulders, still staring out at the topaz water. “Well, we should get on with business. What cargo are you carrying?”

Jack laughed softly. “Rum, love. One hundred hogsheads. Five thousand gallons.” As he spoke, he remembered the events of the morning. Correction. Ninety-nine hogsheads, and about four thousand nine hundred and fifty gallons, actually. It seemed as though a year had passed since he’d ferreted out the rum thieves, instead of mere hours.

Now it was her turn to laugh, though it held a rueful note. “How appropriate, Jack. The last prize we took was carrying Madeira and cloth. That was two weeks ago.” She shook her head and sighed. “We still have the cloth.”

“Dare I hope that you won’t take it all, love?” Jack said. “If I have to sail me first command back to London with an empty hold, the East India Trading Company is not likely to be pleased. Can we…parlay?”

She turned to face him and smiled, a flash of white teeth in her tanned features. “What do you have to negotiate with, Mr. Sparrow?”

Jack bowed slightly. “Only my humble self, lovely pirate queen.”

“You? Humble?” She laughed out loud. After a moment, she sobered and thought for a moment. “I’ll take a third of the barrels. Plus half your spare canvas, and…” she paused to think. “How long have you been out?”

“We left Port Royal three days ago.”

“Ah, you’re fully stocked, then.” Her dark eyes gleamed, and she smiled happily. “I will also require ten hogsheads of fresh water, and a third of your bosun’s stores—”

“A third!” yelped Jack. Bosun’s stores referred to paint, line, sailcloth, and spars. “I’ll give you a fifth.”

“A quarter.”

“Very well,” he said, secretly pleased, but hiding it with a wounded grimace. “What else?”

She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t get top-lofty with me, Jack. I’m doing you a favor and you know it. Add in half your fresh fruit, plus two bags of biscuit and a cask of salt beef.”

Jack winced theatrically, but just for effect. “You have me over a barrel,” he said, with a slight bow. “Obviously. Well, now that we—”

Esmeralda pursed her lips. “Not so fast. I wasn’t finished.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “What else?”

“Your crew will carry it all over and place it in the hold of my ship, under my quartermaster’s direction. I don’t want my men seeing how much you’re carrying.” She thought for a moment. “And I am short on powder. I’ll need half of yours.”

“Half my powder,” Jack muttered. “That’s asking a lot. There are pirates in these waters, love.”

She nodded. “I’ll escort you until you reach Florida. No one will dare to challenge Venganza. After that, you’ll be on your own, but with any luck you’ll reach England without even sighting another vessel.”

“Done!” Jack said, relieved. “Thank you, love.” He held out his hand.

Esmeralda didn’t take it. She shook her head reprovingly. “I’m not doing this just for you. Since taking that prize carrying the Madeira, we’ve sailed a crooked wake for two weeks. They were all so drunk I thought I might have to make sail myself. I lost a good topman one night…never did find out if he went over the side himself, or had help.” She paused, then added wryly, “I don’t like having my crew strewn around, half of them passed out, the others puking their guts up because they can’t control themselves.” It was Esmeralda’s turn to roll her eyes. “Men.”

Jack had been aboard Troubadour when Teague had taken a cargo of rum, once. He remembered very little of the next few weeks. He nodded cheerfully. “Typical specimens of the male sex, darling. I swear, you women can’t live with us, can’t throw us to the bloody sharks.”

They both laughed softly.

“Did you proof the rum?” she asked. “If it’s been watered, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Traders and pirates knew that the most reliable way to determine whether rum had been diluted with water was to mix equal parts of rum and powder (small amounts were preferable), then touch a match to it. If the rum had been diluted, the match would go out. If the rum was pure, the mixture would light and burn.

Jack grimaced at her, amused. “Love, this is me. Jack Sparrow. You can’t for an instant suppose I’d forget to test the ruddy rum?”

“There is that,” she said. “Very well, we have an agreement.” She smiled at him, her smile turning tentative, almost shy. “Oh, and one more thing…”

“Oh, no, we agreed to all the terms,” Jack reminded her.

She looked down, and he could see color stain her cheekbones. “I also require…that you join me for dinner tonight. My cabin. Row over to Venganza after the cargo has been transferred and we’ve ungrappled.”

Only then did Esmeralda extend her own hand. Jack took it in his. Her palm and the undersides of her fingers were calloused from work and the grip of her sword, but the skin on the back of her hand was still as soft as he remembered. He bowed formally, then kissed the back of her hand. Her scent was sweeter than any perfume. He wanted to turn her hand over, to kiss her palm, then move upward, feeling the pulse in her wrist jump beneath his lips, and then he’d…

With a palpable effort, he made himself release her hand and step back. “Esmeralda, love, nothing would please me more, but I can’t risk it. Have you forgotten that I broke the Code? What if one of your men saw me, recognized me, then went to Teague, and told him I’m sailing for the EITC? Teague would…” Jack hesitated, thinking. “I’m not sure what he’d do, but I’m positive I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

She looked at him closely, and Jack glanced away. “I don’t think Teague would truly harm you, Jack,” she said, slowly.

“I’d rather not chance it, love. Couldn’t you row over here?”

“No,” she said, flatly. “That wouldn’t look right, and you know it. And if I’m aboard they’ll exercise at least some restraint, celebrating their prize of rum. If I left, they might get so drunk they…” She shook her head. “You know pirates.”

Jack did know pirates. And he was more than a little familiar with the effects of rum. “Is there anyone you can trust not to betray me to Teague?” he asked. “I could row over after dark, and make sure none of them gets a good look at me. If I had someone to bring me aboard and take me to you…”

“My first mate, Montoya,” she said. “Luis is loyal only to me, as he was to my grandfather. You need have no fear, Jack. He will meet you and bring you to my cabin, and never say a word about it to anyone. I swear that you will be safe.” She held Jack’s eyes with her own. “Until dark, then. Do we have an agreement?”

Jack thought about the coming night, and gave in. “Done.” He smiled at her, then added, honestly, “I shall be counting the minutes.”

After the terms Doña Pirata had specified had been fulfilled, Venganza removed the grapples holding the ships together. The vessels drifted until they were a few hundred feet apart, then hove to again. The water was too deep to allow them to anchor.

The sun set in a blaze of Caribbean color.

Jack, having spent half an hour freshening up in his tiny cabin, appeared on deck in his best clothes and ordered a boat lowered. He explained to his waiting crew that the Lady Pirate had invited him to dinner, and that he hoped to convince her not to take the rest of their cargo and provisions. His explanation was greeted with a couple of knowing grins, but no one was bold enough to voice a comment aloud.

Leaving Robby in command, Jack rowed himself over to the frigate, enjoying the cooler breezes of the evening. On the western horizon, blushes of color—coral, rose, apple green, lemon—still tinted the sky, and he could see both Venus and Mercury. Venus blazed with a pure white spark, dominating the lapis bowl of the night, but she would soon sink down, over the edge of the world. Only the fingernail moon and the stars would be left to rule the heavens.

When he reached Venganza, Jack tied his boat to the ship, then, after pulling his hat low and his neckcloth up, he climbed up the ladder, over the railing, and stepped down onto the deck. Doña Pirata’s second in command, a villainous-looking Spaniard named Luis Montoya, was waiting for him, as promised.

Jack inclined his head to the man, noting that he seemed sober. He glanced quickly around the deck as he followed Montoya to the ladder leading belowdecks. It was clear that Esmeralda’s crew were enjoying their prize, swilling EITC rum with abandon. The deck was full of crewmen, but he was reassured to note that none of them paid him the slightest attention.

Jack’s nostrils twitched at the smell of barbecued meat and his stomach growled; he realized he hadn’t eaten since dawn. Someone struck up a lively tune on the hornpipe, and voices began singing in loud, and in many cases, slurred, Spanish. Jack recognized the tune. He knew the words to it, though he knew it better in English. The scene before him was so familiar, so relaxed, so free.…

As he descended the ladder, Jack reminded himself again that many of these roistering men were doubtless doomed to swing from a gibbet someday.

Montoya led him to the captain’s cabin, then tapped on the door. “Enter,” responded a voice. Her voice.

Montoya opened the door, and they went in.

Esmeralda’s cabin, once her grandfather’s cabin, was large and richly furnished. On the left there was a working space, where a good-sized table held writing implements and stacks of maps and charts. She was sitting there, charts spread before her. She glanced up as Jack entered, and slowly rose to her feet.

For their evening together, she had donned a rose silk gown, not too different in design from the one he had seen her wear that first time they’d spoken together in Shipwreck Cove, five years ago. Black lace edged the low-cut bodice, which was studded with jet beads that sparkled in the lamplight. Her hair was caught up with combs to hold it away from her face, but tumbled down her back, soft and wavy.

Montoya had hesitated in the doorway, and she flashed him a brief smile, and said, in Spanish, “Dinner may be served now, thank you, Luis.”

Montoya bobbed his head, and left, closing the door behind him.

Jack moved toward her, mesmerized by the way she looked, by the rustle of the silk gown, by the scent of her perfume. “Blimey, Esmeralda, you look…” he searched for a word. “Ravishing, love.”

She smiled, a playful smile that made her seem, all at once, like the fifteen-year-old girl who had thrashed him, then rubbed his face in the dirt. “Does that mean I am to be ravished, Jack?”

Her words and smile were deliberately provocative, and it took all Jack’s self-control not to lunge at her then and there. But, recalling that Luis Montoya would doubtless be back any moment with their food, he merely smiled and said, “What man could deny you anything when you look so beautiful, darling?”

She laughed, a little breathlessly, and gestured to a chair. “Madeira?”

Now it was Jack’s turn to chuckle as he sat down with her. “I thought your buccaneers drank it all.”

“Not quite all. I saved the best. Captain’s privilege.”

She poured him a glass of the wine, then gathered up her charts, clearing space on the table. Jack studied the goblet, which was silver, chased with gold. “Very nice,” he said, enjoying how the lamplight shone on the burnished surface. “Booty?”

“But of course,” she replied. “A nice little Dutch brig we took a day’s sail east off the Northwest Providence Channel. These belonged to her captain.”

Then, her expression growing serious once more, she raised her goblet. “A toast, Jack. To the fair winds of fate that blew us together today.”

Jack inclined his head. “To fate,” he murmured, then they both sipped their wine. A moment later, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Enter,” she said.

Montoya came in, carrying a tray. He set it down, nodded, then left. Esmeralda rose and locked the door. Jack sipped his wine, feeling his heart speed up.

“My cook made good use of your supplies, I see,” she said, returning to the table and lifting the covers over the dishes.

“I know he did a better job than mine could have,” Jack said, ruefully. “This smells delicious.”

They fell to, eating with the appetite of two active people who hadn’t broken their fast since the sun rose.

After they finished the meal, they cleared away the dishes and moved their chairs so they were sitting side by side in the cabin, lit only by a single lantern. Esmeralda had the luxury of having several casement-style windows that would open to provide ventilation. After such a hot day, the night air was cool and refreshing.

Jack gave his companion a sidelong glance, only to find that she was doing the same. They both hastily looked away. Jack racked his brain for something clever and amusing to say, but his customary gift of gab seemed to have deserted him.

Jack was accustomed to ladies of the evening, women who knew what they were being paid for, women who didn’t need or want much in the way of conversation. Everything was understood, and they wanted to get right to work. Seduction wasn’t something he’d had all that much experience with—and never with a woman like this. Esmeralda wasn’t a chambermaid, or some lass who waited tables in a tavern. She was a pirate captain, a woman with power and authority. Talking to her most of the time was like talking to another man. And yet, he could never forget she was female.

It was true that they’d been together before, but that had been an entirely different situation. Five years ago, they’d been cornered, desperately hiding, forced into close quarters in the dark, together. They’d been terrified they’d be discovered, then giddy with relief when they weren’t. Things had just…happened.

Esmeralda looked away from him, nibbling at her lower lip, clearly as unsure of her next move as he was. Jack took courage from that realization. He knew what he wanted. Esmeralda’s a lady, he reminded himself. The night is young. Patience.… And it was good just sitting here with her, sipping the excellent Madeira, for once not having to guard every word that came out of his mouth. He was keyed up, there was no doubt, but in another way, he felt more relaxed than he had in years.

Because you’re back with your own kind? he wondered. Then he sternly reminded himself that pirates were no longer his kind.

With the window open, they could hear the men laughing, singing, and dancing on the deck above. One song ended, and another rollicking tune began. It was the pirate ditty Jack had heard before. Its quick rhythm and ribald lyrics filled his mind, and he found himself humming, then actually singing along. Jack had a nice tenor, smooth and true. Esmeralda listened to him, tapping time, then smiled impishly at him and jumped to her feet. “I cannot sing,” she said, breathlessly. “But I can dance!”

Picking up her skirts with a silken rustle, she began to dance. Her movements were a cross between those of a traditional Spanish dancer and a pirate’s jig. She moved gracefully, her heels tapping the floor, her dark eyes flashing in the dim light of the cabin. Her black hair swirled around her shoulders, and she laughed and flung it back, then danced faster, keeping time with the music. Jack began to clap time as he sang. The music floated across the dark Caribbean Sea like cream-topped waves of cheerful sound.

Jack watched her, catching tantalizing glimpses of buckled shoes with red heels, and shapely ankles clad in black silk stockings. Finally, as the music wound down, she held out both hands to him, and he found himself up out of his chair, grasping her hands, as they whirled around. He was dizzy, not from the motion, but from the scent of her. She was wearing some exotic perfume that reminded him of an oriental garden.

The music stopped, and so did the dancers, both laughing, then moving closer together. They stood there, almost touching, their breathing coming fast, regarding each other in the dimly lighted cabin. He was just about to pull her closer and kiss her when she tensed, shook her head, and stepped back. “Jack,” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief, “you don’t look at all like a man who belongs here, aboard a pirate ship! You look far too civilized.”

Jack chuckled. “Do I? If you knew the trouble I’d taken with my toilette, love, before rowing over here…what you see is the best I have.” His amusement at her comment was genuine, but he found himself wondering why she had retreated. Biding his time was growing more difficult, but he knew she was not a woman to push.

“I want you to look like my Jack,” she whispered. “I want my Jack here, not this civilized merchant officer!”

Moving forward, she put her hands up to his neck, and untied his neckcloth, pulling it free and dropping it on the table. Jack’s breath caught in his throat as she walked behind him and tugged at his best blue coat with the brass buttons, sliding it off his shoulders, then down over his arms. She hung it over the back of the chair. “Worst of all,” she murmured, “your feet. Sit down.”

Putting her hands against his chest, she pushed him down into the chair, then, before he could protest, she dropped down to kneel before him. Carefully, she pulled off one proper buckled shoe, then the other. She slid her fingers up, past his ankles, along his calves, and slowly peeled down his white knee stockings. Jack was silently glad that they were his best pair, and had no holes. The feel of her fingers sliding along his calves made his head spin.

He rose to his feet and pulled her against him, but before he could kiss her, she again skipped back, out of reach, then stood regarding him mock-thoughtfully. Jack felt his color rise as she scrutinized him, eyeing his waistcoat and loose-sleeved shirt with the cuffs edged with tattered lace. “Better,” she murmured. “Much better. But that shirt won’t do.”

Moving closer again, she carefully unbuttoned his shirt so it hung open halfway to his belt. Feeling the trails of her fingernails on his chest, Jack closed his eyes, fighting for control. He couldn’t just grab her; he sensed that would be a major mistake. Is she trying to drive me mad? he wondered, clenching his hands into fists.

Esmeralda’s last “revision” of his appearance came when she reached over his shoulder and pulled loose the black ribbon tying back his hair, so it hung loose on his shoulders. He didn’t move, hoping that this time she wouldn’t step back. But she did, then regarded him, her head cocked to one side. Finally she nodded approvingly and smiled. “Now you look like my Jack once more,” she said. “My Jack is a pirate. A beautiful pirate.”

Jack’s laugh was a bit shaken. “No, darling. The beauty stands before me.”

She laughed, too, but there was an undertone of tension in it. “Flatterer. What is it your Obeah woman used to call you? The one you told me about? Ah, yes. Witty Jack.”

He shook his head ruefully. Why in the world was she talking about Tia Dalma? “Tia Dalma isn’t ‘mine,’ love,” he corrected her. “She’s her own woman, make no mistake. No man will ever possess her. She’s…” he groped for words to express something indefinable he’d always sensed about the hoodoo sorceress. “She’s…she…sometimes it seems like she wears her woman’s body…the way you would wear a gown.” He shivered. “She has power,” he said. “Real power. She’s no one I’d want to cross.”

“Is she pretty?” Esmeralda asked, and he sensed a touch of jealousy in her voice, which he found immensely gratifying.

He shrugged. “She’s…attractive…in certain ways. But not pretty, the way you are. You are lovely.”

Why is she stalling like this? he wondered. His patience was eroding, but he sensed that she wasn’t doing this to be coy, but for another, more personal reason. And somehow he knew that reason was important.

He gazed at her in the soft light. She was, indeed, beautiful. Her eyes looked huge and dark, for she had outlined them somehow. There was a faint flush of color in her cheeks, and on her lips. In the years since he’d last seen her, she’d learned to enhance her appearance, the way women of her class at court did. “Your eyes,” he said. “I love your eyes. The way you’ve enhanced them. What did you do?”

She smiled. “A little trick I picked up in the east. It’s called kohl. They all outline their eyes there, in that part of the world, both men and women. The sun is so hot, and it helps protect against the glare off the water. It also helps prevent infections. You should try it, Jack. It would look wonderful on you. Let me show you.”

After rummaging in a drawer, she returned with a small pot and a fine-tipped brush. “Hold still. Don’t blink,” she commanded, after dipping the brush into the dark substance. Jack did as she bade, and felt the brush glide along his lower lids. “Now close your eyes,” she said. This time the brush touched his upper lids, each in turn, slipping smoothly along.

Esmeralda stepped back and nodded. “It looks very good on you, Jack,” she said, after giving him an appraising glance. Jack looked into the mirror she handed him and was inclined to agree.

“Thanks, love,” he said. “I like it. I’ll have to remember this, next time I’m in the east.”

“Oh, they sell it in Tortuga,” she said. “You know Tortuga.”

“I do,” he agreed. “Port Royal has its charms, but it can’t hold a candle to Tortuga.”

Silence fell. Jack peered at her in the dimness, and realized she was trembling. Her eyes were suspiciously bright. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, gently. “I can see something is wrong. Tell me.”

Esmeralda hesitated for a long moment. “I…I…” she broke off, then shook her head. “Perhaps this evening was a mistake,” she whispered. “It was such a long time ago. But…”

Jack held his breath, wondering whether she’d just open her door and tell him to leave, rather than give him the truth.

Finally, not looking up, she said softly, hesitantly, “Jack, that time we met in Barbados, I didn’t know whether I ever wanted to speak to you again. The way you left that night, without saying a word to me. After…after we had been…together.”

“But, Esmeralda, I explained it wasn’t by choice!” Jack protested. “I was betrayed, I told you, just as you were. Just as Don Rafael was. It’s not like I planned what happened! I couldn’t help it. It was go with them or be killed out of hand by those rogues!”

She nodded, and half turned away. “I know. At least, my head knows that. But my heart…” she swallowed. “My heart remembers how I felt that next day, and it makes me angry. I know it’s not fair, but you asked why I…” She broke off and shook her head impatiently. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Jack drew in a breath, as, for the first time, he thought about what it must have been like for her. “No, I asked because I wanted to know, love.”

Esmeralda looked down, twisting her hands together. “The next day, my grandfather ordered Venganza made ready to sail, saying on the morrow he planned to go rogue-hunting. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, after I waited all day for you to appear, I dressed up in the cabin boy’s clothes, and went to The Drunken Lady. And that’s when they told me you’d run off with the rogues. I felt like…” She made a small gesture of tossing something away.

“Of course you thought that’s what I had been planning all along,” Jack said. He took a deep breath.

“Esmeralda,” he said, softly, stepping close to her and reaching for her hand. She tensed again, but let him take it. He kissed her knuckles gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen that way.” He reached down for her other hand, and she yielded it to him. Jack began kissing her hands, short-nailed and strong from work, but they were well-tended and feminine. He could never have mistaken them for a man’s hands.

“After I left,” he muttered, between kisses, “I regretted I hadn’t said more when we parted, believe me. I cursed myself for a fool. I thought about you constantly, wondering what you were doing, whether I’d ever see you again.” Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken so honestly to another person. But he knew if there was ever a time for the truth, this was it. “Say you forgive me, love.”

“I do,” she whispered. “Oh, Jack! I didn’t want to be angry with you. But tonight, I couldn’t stop remembering that day.” She gave a short breath of a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “By the time I went to The Drunken Lady, it was a good thing for you that you were gone, Jack. I took my sword and my pistol with me. You know I have a temper.”

He ran his hands up her arms, then across her shoulders, and stepped closer. “I know you do,” he agreed. His arms tightened around her.

This time, she came willingly, her body soft, yielding. Her arms came up to twine around his neck. “I was angry with myself, too,” she admitted.

“Why, love?” he said, and smiled at her. “I assure you, you’re not the first person to think I might deserve shooting.”

Esmeralda laughed a little, and relaxed against him. “Because, even though I was still angry, when I saw you today, I…I wanted you. I was afraid if I said anything, you would be angry with me, and leave me—and then we wouldn’t have even tonight—this one night!—together.”

Jack let out a breath that was half rueful, half laughing. “No worries, love. We’ll have our night.” He bent to kiss her, and the taste of her mouth was every bit as intoxicating as the wine.…

Later, much later, Jack lay on his back in the big bed, listening to Esmeralda’s breathing as she slept, curled against him. It was a pleasant sound, he decided, far superior to the masculine snores that permeated the cabins and crew sleeping areas of most ships.

He was tired. It had been a long day. He was also sated…well, mostly. Jack found himself wishing that he could turn over, nestle against his bedmate and close his eyes, but he didn’t dare. Before dawn touched the eastern horizon he had to make sure he was back aboard Fair Wind, leaving Venganza while he still had the darkness to cloak his features.

And at sunrise, he had to officiate at Captain Bainbridge’s obsequies. Jack sighed. Not a pleasant prospect, especially in comparison to where he was now.

He turned over, propped himself on his left elbow, and, in the dim light of the lantern that they’d never gotten around to extinguishing, he regarded Esmeralda, noting the contrast between the pale curve of her shoulder and the inky tumble of her hair. He wanted to run his hand down her side, over the swell of her hip. But that would wake her.

Let her sleep a little longer, he thought. There’s still some of our night left.

She stirred slightly, and as she moved, he saw a dark mark on her skin, just above her right hipbone. A bruise? Jack hitched himself up higher and leaned over to peer at it. His movement woke her, and she murmured his name softly, then added, “What is it?”

Jack couldn’t honestly say he was sorry she’d awakened. “I saw this,” he said, brushing a finger across the circular mark, “and thought at first it was a bruise. But it’s not.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s a tattoo.”

“What is it?” he asked, looking more closely. It was the size of a doubloon, and it seemed to be outlined in black, and filled in with red ink. Jack narrowed his eyes. It was some kind of grinning, stylized skull, surrounded by geometric lines. “I never saw anything like that before. Did you have it when we…the first time?”

She smiled, teasing him. “What, you didn’t notice?”

“It was dark, love. Remember?”

“I do,” she said. “It was good, that time. But I liked tonight better.”

Jack laughed softly. “Danger did add a bit of a thrill on that notable occasion. But I agree. Tonight was—is—the best.” He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, then lifted her hair and kissed her neck, just below her ear. She shivered with pleasure, and he was tempted to just keep kissing her, and forget about the tattoo, but his curiosity was piqued. He pulled back and said, “So…the tattoo?”

She took a deep breath, and rolled over onto her right side, facing him. “I’ve never told anyone about it. The only people who knew I had it done are dead. My nurse and my grandfather.”

Jack realized this was something very private, and wondered whether she would continue. He didn’t speak, only waited. Finally, she said, “I had it done when I was fourteen. My nurse told me the story, and she had a drawing of this symbol on a scrap of ancient parchment. She was almost full-blooded Aztec. Her name was Azcalxochitzin.”

Jack stared at her in surprise. “You speak the Aztec language?”

One shoulder moved slightly, in a shrug. “Yes, she taught me. I wrote down the words, so I could remember them, because I don’t have anyone to practice speaking with.”

Jack studied her features in the lamplight. The dark eyes, swooping brows, high cheekbones—she seemed to have features that reflected her Castillian heritage. But her nose—it was high-bridged, and there was something exotic in the flare of the nostrils. “You have Aztec blood, too?” he asked, after a moment.

She nodded. “My mother was nearly pure-blood, like my nurse. She and my father were killed when I was five. I don’t really remember them. My nurse saved me. She plucked me from my truckle bed and hid me from the raiders, by crawling beneath my mother’s bed and holding me with one hand over my mouth.”

“Raiders?” Jack asked.

She bit her lower lip. “They told my grandfather it was a ‘native’ uprising. But my nurse had seen them. She told him that it was some of the neighboring dons, with their men, dressed up as natives. My grandfather was good to the native population. He didn’t enslave them, he allowed them to work his fields for fair wages. And he let his son marry a native girl when they fell in love. The dons were angry. My grandfather’s holding was rich. They coveted it.”

Esmeralda rolled onto her back, and clasped her hands behind her head. The new position caused such interesting changes in her anatomy that Jack almost forgot what she’d been saying. After a long moment she added, softly, “When the raid was over, he was left with almost nothing, save a ship, a few loyal servants, and me. That’s why he became a pirate, and that’s why he preyed on Spanish ships instead of sparing them. All his ships were named for his vengeance on the murdering nobles who took his kin from him. I was the only family he had left—a part Aztec child.”

“Do you have an Aztec name, too?” Jack asked.

She smiled, rather shyly. “Yes. I was named for my mother. Quiauhxochitl. It means Rain Flower.”

Jack smiled. “That’s beautiful.” He touched her hip again. “This…it’s some kind of sacred symbol?”

She nodded. “It’s an ancient design. The legends say it was imprinted on the blood money demanded by Cortés.”

Jack’s eyes opened wide. “Are you talking about the lost treasure? The one they say is on an island of the dead somewhere?”

She gazed at him, her eyes impenetrable. Jack could not read her expression, but he knew, by her sudden stillness, that she had said as much as she was going to say. Esmeralda had shared her most closely held secret with him—or part of it, anyway. The thought of treasure was enough to make Jack’s pulse quicken, but he would respect her silence, at least for now.

After a moment, Jack got up, went over to the port, and looked out. He was reassured to see that the east was still dark. He could see dots of light, close by, that marked Fair Wind’s location. Her voice reached him, and there was a note of apprehension in it. “Is it dawn?”

He shook his head. “Not yet, love. We have time.”

Jack returned to the big bed. “Do you remember,” he said, “the day your grandfather sailed into Shipwreck Cove? You stood on the gangplank and looked at me…and I knew I had to meet you.”

She laughed softly. “But first you had to clean your boots.”

“Took me a bloody long time to do it, darling,” Jack agreed, lightly. “But one doesn’t meet the granddaughter of pirate nobility with used rum splashed on his boots.”

“The whole time we were eating dinner,” she said, “I was wondering whether I should talk to you. I thought you might hold our earlier meeting against me.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and caressed her gently with one fingertip. She closed her eyes, breathing faster. Seeing her reaction, he touched her again, same place, moving his finger very slowly. “The only thing I wanted to hold against you, love, was myself.” He smiled reminiscently. “Do you remember what happened after dinner? Hector Barbossa came in. I was glad to see his less-than-lovely countenance, because it meant we could stay together longer.”

Esmeralda smiled. “How strange. We were sitting there, still almost strangers, thinking almost the same thing. I had already heard Barbossa’s account. But I was content to sit there and listen to him again, because I was sitting with you.”

Jack remembered that moment, remembered Barbossa’s scarred features beneath his huge, ragged black hat. That dreadful scraggly beard…He smiled, a slight, wry, smile. Barbossa was a character, he was. He’d never met anyone quite like him, either pirate or honest seaman.

Jack closed his eyes as the memories drifted through his mind, and, despite his resolve, he felt himself sliding into sleep. He sighed, thinking that he’d allow himself to doze for just a few seconds…perhaps just a few minutes.…

Esmeralda snuggled against him, laying her head on his shoulder. Her motion woke him, and Jack roused. He didn’t dare let himself fall asleep. Besides, the touch of her skin against his own reminded him that there were better things for a man and a woman to do in bed than sleep. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close, and began kissing her again.…

A little later, a final check at the open casement betrayed the slightest lightening of the eastern sky. Jack turned away from the port. “I’m afraid dawn’s not far off, love,” he said, quietly. “Time for me to be getting back.”

She nodded, and forced a wan smile as he began gathering his scattered clothing. “Stay there,” he said, as she sat up. “No need for you to get up, darlin’. We won’t be getting under way until after sunrise.”

“I take first watch,” she said. “I like seeing the sun rise.”

They dressed together in companionable silence. Jack finished just as she was tugging on her boots. “I should leave first,” he said.

“Yes, you should.” She glanced down, then back up, and managed a smile. “I’ll wave to you when I sight the coast of Florida,” she promised.

“I’ll wave back,” he replied.

Leaning over, he gave her a quick last kiss. “Take care of yourself, darlin’.”

“I will,” she said. “And you…you do the same.”

“I will.”

Minutes later, Jack was rowing through the predawn grayness, bound for Fair Wind. When he reached the brig, Robby was there to give him a hand up, and help him raise the boat. “How did you find the Lady Esmeralda, Jack?” Robby asked quietly.

Jack merely smiled enigmatically.

“Oho,” Robby said softly, and said no more.

As the Caribbean sun edged up over the horizon, Jack, Robby, Tomlin, and the crew assembled on the weather deck. Captain Bainbridge’s body, sewn into its canvas shroud, was balanced on a wide plank that rested on the gunwale, held there by two sturdy sailors.

Jack looked around to see that the assembly was complete, then opened his mouth to begin the memorial service, only to hesitate in confusion, realizing that he wasn’t on a pirate vessel. He would have to speak the traditional words expected by honest seamen—and he didn’t know what they were. He’d never actually been inside a church during a religious service.

Every crewman’s head was bared; every eye was on him. Jack cleared his throat. Just then, a memory of standing outside a church once and hearing a service that was going on inside filled his memory. He recalled the words he’d heard the clergyman say. Clearing his throat, he announced, “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here, in the—”

Robby’s elbow jabbed him sharply. Jack broke off, glancing sideways at his friend. “That’s for a wedding,” Robby hissed.

“Oh…” Jack swallowed. “What do I say?” he demanded, sotto voce. Robby had been press-ganged aboard a merchant ship at the age of ten. Before that he’d been raised in the Church of England, attending services every week. Jack realized the second mate was grasping his well-thumbed Bible.

“Listen and repeat what I say,” Robby whispered back, and, closing his eyes, he began quoting.

Jack did as bade, and as the sun lifted into the sky, his words filled the dawn air. “I am the resurrection and the life…whosoever believeth in me…even though he shall die…yet shall he have life everlasting…”

Robby led him through the first part of the litany, then trailed off, and muttered, “That’s all I remember by heart, Jack. Want me to look up the rest?”

Jack nodded. “No, thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

He let his gaze travel over the assembled crew. “With these very traditional, very proper words, we, uh, consign our superior officer’s body to the water. The seawater. Salt water.” He groped for words, then brightened as inspiration struck. “Actually we do more than consign! We consecrate, most sacredly, the body of our captain to the waves. The peaceful, calm, blue waves. Captain Bainbridge will, uh, rest here. In the…the bosom, yes, the bosom of the waves. Of the blue seawater waves, here in the Caribbean Sea.”

Some of the men looked up during his speech, quizzically. Jack, perspiring, thought hard, and inspiration struck again. “Mr. Tomlin,” he said, “in recognition of your, um, profound feelings for our captain, I’d like you to offer the traditional…” he trailed off, searching for the word.

“Prayer,” whispered Robby.

“Exactly! The traditional prayer! If you will, Mr. Tomlin.”

Edward Tomlin’s narrow shoulders squared, and his voice, though trembling with emotion, was clearly heard as he began the Pater noster. Jack glanced sideways at Robby, who nodded fractionally, then jerked his chin at the canvas-wrapped form to indicate what should happen next.

When Tomlin finished, Jack nodded to the two sailors holding the plank. Together, they tipped it, and the body slid off the plank, and splashed into the sea. Jack took a deep breath. Blimey, glad that’s over!

Jack gave the helmsman their heading, then ordered the anchor raised, and all plain sail set. Then he dismissed the crew to their duties.

As his men scattered, and the ship filled with the bustle of getting under way, Jack stood there, alone, gazing off across the sea, his mind crowded with all the things he had to do. He was in charge, now.

It was his first command. He was captain, in fact if not in name. He had to plot a course that would take them north, past Florida, along the coast of the colonies; then, when they reached northern waters, they would turn east, heading for England. His course had to be plotted accurately, so it would bring Fair Wind across the Atlantic, so they could deliver what was left of their cargo to the EITC warehouse in London that was waiting to receive it.

In London, they’d pick up another cargo, and then head south, back to the Fair Wind’s home port of Calabar. Calabar was located on the Bight of Benin, midway down the western coast of Africa.

As soon as they were safely docked in Calabar, Jack would have to report to the EITC office there. He’d be required to provide a full report of all that had happened during the voyage to the manager of the EITC office. He would have to justify every decision, and submit his logbook for review.

The manager of the Calabar office of the East India Trading Company was actually the head of the entire midwestern EITC African division—one of the top three EITC men assigned to the continent. Jack had never met the man. When he’d been posted to Fair Wind, he’d waited outside the office while Captain Bainbridge received his instructions and the paperwork for the cargo.

The breeze freshened a bit, and Jack quickly reviewed the set of the brig’s sails. Once he was satisfied with them, he went below, where his navigational charts awaited him.

As he spread out his charts, he found himself wondering whether the as-yet-unknown EITC manager would approve of the way he’d handled things aboard the brig. If he did, there might be a promotion in the offing.

Jack bent over the charts. Captain Jack Sparrow.

He liked the sound of it.